How You Play the Game
by Elim9
Summary: Chosen by her own district to compete in the 25th Hunger Games, Holly knows she doesn't stand a chance of winning. So the young toymaker sets her sights on a more personal victory. Determined to die smiling, Holly learns to find joy amid terror, laughter amid pain, and friendship amid the threat of betrayal. Because it's not whether you win or lose ... but how you play the game.
1. A Heavy Summons

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Hunger Games.

Rated T for ... Okay, let's be honest. If you can't figure out why a Hunger Games fic is rated T, you've probably forgotten the basic premise of the series.

* * *

**How You Play the Game**

**Chapter One  
****A Heavy Summons****  
**

_Good Evening._

_ This year marks the 25__th__ Anniversary of the Capitol's victory over the rebels. It also marks our very first Quarter Quell!_

_ This year, as a reminder to the rebels that their children are dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district will hold an election to determine its own tributes. No volunteers will be accepted._

_ Happy Hunger Games!_

* * *

Names. Through tears, Rowan studied the list of names in front of her. A list of boys and a list of girls, grouped by age. All around her, eligible voters – anyone over eighteen and thus ineligible for the Games – sat with their own ballots, all wondering the same thing: Which of these children would they condemn to death?

And it was almost surely a death sentence. In the wealthier districts, young boys and girls had probably been begging friends and family and even strangers to vote for them, especially since this year wouldn't allow them the opportunity to volunteer. But not here. Not in District Seven. Here, axes were for hewing trees, knives for carving wood. Most children would never dream of using them against each other.

Rowan's hands shook as she found her own children's names on the page. Not hers by birth, but the old woman cared for each child in the orphanage as if they were her own. Forty-seven children, twenty-three of them listed on the pages in front of her. But surely no one would vote for any of the youngest. The first page of each section – boys and girls – listed the names of the seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds. Rowan hadn't even glanced at the other pages. Surely no one would be that cruel.

Of course, any choice was cruel. To force parents to vote for their children, their nieces and nephews, their son's or daughter's playmates. How could anyone vote for a child and then expect their brothers and sisters to watch them die? But how could they vote for an only child, their parents' only son or daughter?

And that, Rowan knew, was what placed her own children in particular danger. Children were only left to the orphanage if they had no one else – no parents, no close relatives, no siblings old enough to care for them. Her children weren't well-known in the district. Not the names people would recognize. And, Rowan acknowledged with a twinge of guilt as she read the names herself, it was easier to consider voting for someone you didn't know.

But Rowan fought back that urge. That was what everyone else would do. So, instead, she circled the names of the mayor's twin son and daughter. Everyone knew them. Everyone loved them. No one else would vote for them. She would be outnumbered, and, whoever was chosen, she would have no hand in it.

At least, that's what she was able to convince herself of long enough to circle two names and hand the ballot to the nearest Peacekeeper. He checked it first – several people had tried to hand back blank ballots – and then gestured towards the exit.

It was dark outside. Fitting, Rowan thought, for such a dark, cruel act as this. Now they would have to wait until morning to learn the results. To learn which children they had betrayed to their deaths.

Most of her children were asleep – or, at least, in their beds – when she returned, but five sat by the fireplace. Basil, Oliver, Laurel, Holly, and Fern looked up as the door opened and Rowan collapsed beside them.

Fern wrapped her arms around Rowan. Rowan returned the hug, grateful that Fern, at least, was safe. She had turned nineteen only a month ago and had decided to stay and help Rowan care for the younger children. She tall and strongly built, but the children saw her as a mother hen, kind, nurturing, devoted – all of them good things at an orphanage, but deadly in the arena, where ruthlessness was praised and kindness was rewarded with death.

Oliver stoked the fire a little. He was days away from turning nineteen himself, but that didn't matter. The skinny, jumpy bookbinder's apprentice was in just as much danger as any other older boy – maybe more. He was shy. Timid. Few people outside his small portion of the factory knew his face, let alone his name.

As if he'd read the older boy's mind, Basil spoke up. "They're not gonna pick you, Oliver."

"How do you know?"

The seventeen-year-old lumberjack smiled a little. "Because, ever since the President made that horrid announcement, I've made sure to tell everyone at work about you. How you take care of the other children, teach them to read, tell them stories. How we'd all be lost without you." He patted Oliver on the back. "As far as they're concerned, you're a hero."

Rowan smiled. It was true enough. Every one of the older children was indispensable, especially now. This year's non-traditional Reaping meant no tesserae, so the older children had to work even harder to make sure the younger ones didn't starve. Some as young as thirteen or fourteen had taken jobs in the factory to bring in more money. And they got by, but this year was definitely the leanest in Rowan's memory.

"But what about you?" Oliver asked.

"They won't pick me." Basil sounded more like he was trying to convince himself, though, because, due to his size and strength, he was a somewhat natural choice. "None of the lumberjacks would pick one of their own, and there are so many of us that … well, the odds are in my favor." Rowan hoped he was right, that his close-knit group of friends would be enough to protect him, because outside their circle, he was relatively unknown.

Eighteen-year-old Holly looked up from the flute she was finishing, her usually cheerful face barely masking a deep fear. Without a word, she handed the flute to Laurel and headed for the door. Before Rowan could call out to her, she was gone.

Laurel fingered the flute gingerly. "It's all they've been talking about all night," she explained. "She probably just needs to clear her head."

Rowan nodded. "And you?" she asked. "How are you doing?"

Laurel shrugged. "About as well as anyone else, I suppose. At least it won't be any of the little ones this year … Will it?"

Rowan shook her head emphatically. "No. No, especially not after last year." Last year had been a thirteen-year-old girl and a twelve-year-old boy, both of whom had been killed early and easily. No one wanted to relive that.

"I thought about volunteering last year when I saw her," Fern admitted. "But I was so scared. And I just kept thinking that it was my last Reaping, that now I'm safe, but, Rowan, this is even worse!"

Rowan nodded. The younger adults had voted earlier in the day, so Fern had been agonizing over her decision even longer. And it was worse for her. These were her friends. Schoolmates. Coworkers. She didn't have the luxury of picking a name she didn't know. As social as Fern was, Rowan had no doubt that she had met every person on the list.

Fern hugged Rowan close. The boys remained silent. At last, Laurel lifted the flute to her lips. Holly hadn't quite finished tweaking it, so it was a little off-pitch, but it was still beautiful, soft and sad and comforting at the same time.

She had two more upstairs – different sizes. On colder nights, they would all sit around the fire. Laurel would play, and the children would sing, and, for a while, the world seemed beautiful and alive.

Eventually, Fern and the boys went to bed. Finally, Holly returned, sweating and breathing hard, but finally smiling again. She sat down beside Laurel with a doll she was carving for one of the little girls.

Holly was apprenticed to a carpenter. Most of her work was furniture, but her passion was toys, and her master let her bring home scraps of wood – too small for any other use – to carve in her spare time. Holly would leave carvings under the younger ones' pillows, claiming a fairy left them if they were good. Nearly all the children knew better, but it was more fun to play along. To pretend.

Well into the night, they sat there, the three of them – Laurel playing, Holly carving, and Rowan watching them silently. She must have dozed off, because she awoke to Laurel kissing her softly on the cheek. The fire was out, and Holly had already gone to bed, no doubt after tucking the doll under someone's pillow. Rowan wrapped Laurel in a hug, and they both headed upstairs.

After a moment, however, Rowan could hear quiet sobs coming from the next room. She peeked through the door. Laurel sat on her bed, her pillow out of place, holding something in her hands. Rowan took a few steps inside the room and could finally see what Laurel was holding. It was a doll.

* * *

"Happy Hunger Games!" Wilmer Frond's voice boomed across the town square.

Sitting behind him onstage, Amber Birnam cringed. There had been nothing happy about the Hunger Games six years ago, when she had won, and they were even less happy now. This year, those chosen couldn't blame it on the odds, as she had. They had to blame their own families. Their neighbors. And there would be no volunteers, no one to save them from their fate. Not that District Seven had many volunteers, anyway, but there was always that brief moment, that fleeting hope that maybe someone would step forward.

Amber sat back and tried to look like she didn't care. Like nothing could possibly be worse than last year. Like she wasn't searching the crowd, wondering which faces matched the names she herself had circled the day before. And hoping – desperately hoping – that there were enough older, stronger boys that her sixteen-year-old brother, Ember, would be safe for another year.

The anthem played. Wilmer rambled for a while in his thick Capitol accent, ending with District Seven's list of Victors, which contained only her name. At last, he got down to business. "And now we shall draw – oh, wait!" He stopped himself dramatically, as if he had really forgotten. "No drawings this year! I believe our good Mayor has the names of the winners!"

The winners. As if going into the arena was some sort of prize. Amber watched silently as the Mayor, pale-faced and no doubt fearing for his own children, handed Wilmer two slips of paper, folded and sealed by the Peacekeepers after they had counted the votes the night before.

Wilmer beamed. He unfolded the first paper – the one with a girl's name – and read it gleefully. "Holly Tamarack!"

Amber felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. The name was familiar. She had seen it last night. Circled it. She forced down a lump in her throat as she realized she was partially responsible for this girl's fate.

* * *

Holly froze. The crowd parted, and she knew she was supposed to walk to the stage, but her legs wouldn't obey. How could they have picked her? Surely they knew she wouldn't stand a chance. And now she was only making things worse. She had to move.

She could hear crying behind her. The little ones. Holly took a deep breath. She didn't care about the people watching in the Capitol. The other tributes sizing her up. But her little brothers and sisters – she could be brave for them. She took a few steps. Then a few more. Trying not to cry, and, when that failed, trying to hide her tears. Up the stairs. Onto the platform. Only then did her legs give way, and she fell to her knees, silent.

Wilmer wasn't fazed. Sometimes tributes cried. Usually younger ones, but not always. So, instead of acknowledging her display, he continued. "And now the boys!" Holly could hear rustling as he unfolded the paper. "Basil Ashmore!"

He'd said it wrong. But the crowd gave way, nonetheless, as Basil took the stage. "Congratulations, Basil!" Wilmer beamed.

For whatever reason, that snapped Holly back to reality. If they were going to sentence him to death in front of millions, they could at least bother to pronounce his name right. "Basil," she said softly.

"What's that, Dearie?" Wilmer asked.

Holly forced herself to her feet. "Basil," she repeated, emphasizing the short 'a' as she turned towards the cameras. "It's pronounced Basil."

Basil put an arm around her. "Thanks, Holly."

Wilmer cocked an eyebrow, sensing drama. "You two know each other. Cousins? Boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"Brother and sister," Basil corrected. Holly nodded.

Wilmer looked puzzled but shrugged it off. "Ladies and gentlemen, District Seven's Tributes for the Twenty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games!"

Basil squeezed Holly's shoulder gently. He was trying to be comforting. Reassuring. But there was nothing he could really do to protect her. There was nothing anyone could do.

She was going to die.

* * *

"_A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, and yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers, restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature gives way to in repose!" ~ II, i, 6-10_


	2. Through the Roughest Day

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games still isn't mine.

* * *

**Chapter Two  
****Through the Roughest Day**

Holly and Basil said their goodbyes together. The Peacekeepers wouldn't let the children in all at once, so they came in groups of four or five. One of the little boys, Moss, too young to understand what was going on, greeted Holly with a pair of wooden dice and a cheery, "Have fun at the games."

Last of all came Rowan, Fern, Oliver, and Laurel. Fern shook her head when she saw the dice. "I tried to tell him it wasn't really a 'game,' but he insisted."

Holly shook her head and found a smile. "I think it's perfect." She handed one to Basil. "Your district token, if you want it."

Basil studied it for a moment. "You made these, didn't you."

Holly nodded. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

Basil smiled as he tucked them into his pocket. But a gnawing tension had filled the room. The odds couldn't favor them both. They couldn't both win. Chances were, neither of them would, and this goodbye was forever.

So they made the most of it. They all shared hugs as they had with the younger children, only letting go once the Peacekeepers told them their time was up. Rowan was the last to leave, holding them both just a little longer. "We love you. Both of you. All of us. Remember that, because once you're in the arena, it'll be easy to forget."

"We love you, too, Rowan," Basil said quietly. Holly was crying too hard to echo the statement – all the tears she'd held in while saying goodbye to the little ones were flowing freely now – but she held onto Rowan tightly, hoping that was enough.

The Peacekeeper knocked again, and Rowan left.

For a while, they sat there, the two of them. Holly twirled the die over and over in her hands. "Have fun at the games," she repeated bitterly.

"He didn't mean anything by it," Basil assured her. "He's three."

"I know," Holly said softly. But that didn't make it better. Because they entire Capitol treated the Games like they _were_ fun. Like the Games were just that – games. Like hopscotch or checkers or dice. Fun.

Holly tossed the die in the air absently and caught it a few times. Have fun at the games.

* * *

_"But, Holly, cooking isn't fun."_

_ "Of course it is, Daisy. But, you see, fun is your choice. You have to want it. Right now, you're Little Miss Grumpy Face. Try smiling – just a little."_

_ The five-year-old did as she was told. "But I don't _feel _like I'm having fun."_

_ "How about these carrots? Let's pretend. Let's pretend that inside this carrot is a golden carrot stick. _But_, to get to it, we have to wash it and peel it—"_

_ "—and chop it up to make little gold coins?"_

_ "Exactly. Having fun yet?"_

_ "A little."_

_ "Well, that's how fun works. First a choice, and then a little at a time."_

* * *

First a choice. Holly tossed the cube again, caught it, and held it close. "Have fun at the games," she repeated. But, this time, it wasn't a bitter joke or a three-year-old's naïveté. This time, it was an order. A lifeline.

Holly smiled. An odd, mischievous smile. "Maybe I will."

* * *

As she greeted the two tributes on the train, Amber was relieved to see the girl had composed herself. In fact, she was smiling. Which was odd, but it was better than crying, so Amber thought it best not to comment on it.

She led them to the dining car, and the girl's smile only grew wider. Amber took a seat and began munching a cookie. The food was pretty much the only perk of being a mentor.

These two were lucky to even _have_ a mentor. She was District Seven's first Victor, and she'd done it on her own. Without a mentor. Without advice. She'd only had Wilmer, and he wasn't much help. If it hadn't been for those monstrously large eagles that had wiped out the Career pack…

No. No, that wasn't going to help – dwelling on her Games. With another bite of her cookie, she snapped back into mentor mode, studying the two tributes. Older than last year's, which was good, but she suspected that most districts would be the same. None of them would vote for the younger children. So their competition would be older, too.

The boy was over six feet tall. Muscular. Probably a lumberjack. Definitely stronger than all of the other tributes she had mentored. His hands were large, the sort that could choke the life out of you. Now she just had to find out if he had the mental strength to actually do it.

The girl had the same wiry, light brown hair and pale brown eyes as the boy, but the similarity stopped there. She was maybe an inch or two over five feet. Thin. And, if the Reaping was any indication, not the toughest emotionally.

There was something else. Something she'd been wondering. "All right. Brother and sister. No resemblance. Different last names. Explain."

Basil cracked a smile. "I win, Holly."

Holly giggled. "I thought you'd be able to work it out on your own."

"Our mother's name is Rowan," Basil offered.

"The orphanage," Amber nodded. Rowan was well-known, even if her children weren't. "Of course. Now that that's cleared up, down to business. Basil, you've got a good amount of raw strength. How are you with an axe?"

"Good."

"How good?"

"Very."

"Can you throw one?"

"Yes." But it sounded more like a question than a response.

"You've never thrown one, have you."

"Never really had a reason to," Basil shrugged.

Amber nodded. "Both of you, this will go better for all of us if you're honest. If you don't know how to do something, don't pretend to. You've got a few days of training to pick up some basic skills, so if I know where you're lacking, I can point you in that direction." She turned back to Basil. "Ever handle any other kind of weapon?"

"Do torches count?"

"Yes."

"Then yes. If we're working late, sometimes we need a little more light. I can make one, keep it from going out."

Amber nodded. No surprises there. She'd never had to teach a tribute how to start a fire. It was something children learned at an early age, like the children in District Four learned how to swim or those in District Ten learned how to milk a cow. "Ever been in a fight?"

"No."

That _was_ a surprise. "Never?"

Basil dropped his gaze. Holly shrugged. "He gets along with people."

Amber nodded, remembering that Holly, not Basil, had been the one to correct Wilmer about his name. The boy would have just let it slide. Nothing to get upset over. An easy-going people-person.

"Okay. That'll help." Amber shifted to a different angle. "It makes you likable. Might get you sponsors. Maybe an ally or two. Are you any good at climbing?"

"Trees? Good enough, I suppose, for someone my size."

Amber nodded. "Good. It's useful to be able to avoid a stronger opponent. But that only goes so far. Eventually, you'll have to use that strength of yours."

Basil nodded. "I know. I'm just … not looking forward to it."

"I'd be concerned if you were," Amber agreed. "All right. Holly. Your turn. You're a carpenter?"

"How did you know?"

Amber nodded towards her hands. "You're whittling your biscuit."

Holly looked down, surprised. Clearly, it was a nervous habit. She liked having something to do with her hands. "Also, you were admiring the table before you noticed the food," Amber added. "So, you know your way around a knife. Any chance _you_ can throw one?"

Holly shook her head. "Never had a—"

"—reason to," Amber finished. "I think I get the picture."

"She can run," Basil offered.

"Fast?" Amber asked.

Holly shook her head. "No, but far. I can't sprint, but I can go for hours without stopping."

Stamina. Good. "Ever kill anything? Either of you? Animals, I mean."

"There are snakes in the woods sometimes," Basil nodded. "Poisonous ones. Usually, they won't come near you, but if they try to bite…" He mimed chopping a snake's head off with an axe.

Reflexes. Good. Maybe those instincts would help enough for him to use the same move on a person before he realized he was doing it. "Holly?"

"I can make a decent mousetrap."

Not ideal. But she could work with it. "Good. At training, there'll be a station where they can teach you how to make other kinds of traps. That's your first stop, Holly. Basil, you've got the strength to learn how to throw a heavier weapon effectively; try that."

Both nodded, but Amber could tell from their gaze that they had expected to work together. But that wasn't going to help. Their skills were too different, and not in a way that complemented each other. They needed completely different strategies, or they would both die sooner trying to play on each other's terms.

Of course, there was also the fact – that nagging thought in the back of her mind – that, eventually, at least one of them would die.

She pushed the thought aside. She was getting used to it. Helping even one of them survive would be an accomplishment, and something she hadn't managed to do yet. And the tributes this year would be older. Stronger. The ones their districts thought the most likely to survive.

Which reminded her. "When you two are done eating, we should watch the replay of the Reapings. See what you're up against."

Basil nodded reluctantly. Holly smiled. A very unnerving smile. As if she were consciously reminding herself, every so often, to have fun. Then it was gone, and she was eating her strangely-carved biscuit again. Amber shook her head. "I'll be in the next car."

* * *

Basil didn't really want to watch the replay. Watching just made it even more real. Every face he saw was one more child who was going to die. Which one of them would live? Which one would kill him? Which would kill Holly?

The first few tributes – from Districts One and Two – looked excited to be chosen. Aurora and Flash. Crystal and Jasper. All four were eighteen. All four had clearly been training for a long time for this.

Basil secretly wondered if maybe they had the right idea – the Career districts. Yes, it was unfair, but it made sense. The Games would happen either way. Children would be sent to fight and die. So didn't it make some sense to train them for it? To help them be as prepared as possible? Yes, it was despicable to glorify it the way they did, but there was something to be said for a little experience and preparation.

It also meant that, since there were enough tributes eager to volunteer, those who wanted to avoid the Games could be almost certain to have someone to take their place. Someone who wanted to fight. Wanted to kill. Wanted a chance at the glory.

Yes, it was barbaric to train kids to kill each other, but there was no denying that their approach was effective. And, more than once, Basil caught himself wishing that someone would have taught him to throw an axe or shoot a bow.

Of course, the fact that he had even _handled_ an axe gave him an advantage over the more urban districts. None of the tributes from Three, Five, Six, or Eight had experience with trees, rivers, fields.

Sure enough, the tributes from District Three, Tessa and Renneth, could barely hide the dread on their faces. Surprisingly, the tributes from Four looked upset, too, but for a different reason. Pearl and Ward, the announcer revealed, were brother and sister, eighteen and seventeen.

A year apart. They clearly hadn't expected to be facing each other in the same year. But no volunteers were allowed. No one could save them from this. Any outcome meant their family would lose a child – possibly both. Basil shuddered, knowing Rowan surely felt the same way.

More names on the screen. More faces. Nova and Blaze from Five. Wylles and Mercer from Six. Then their own names were called. Velvet and Russel from Eight. Rayne and Duff from Nine. Emilia and Justin from Ten. Aster and Emmer from Eleven. Robyn and Flint from Twelve. Basil did his best to memorize the names, so he could match them with faces later. Amber had said he might be able to find an ally or two. Would any of them want him?

He could ask Holly, but he already suspected that she might prefer to work alone. Easier to run that way. Easier to hide. By herself, she wasn't very threatening, so maybe the others wouldn't target her immediately. He needed a different approach.

He glanced over at Holly. She sat in a large, cozy chair, her knees tucked to her chest. Her smile was gone. "I'm glad I didn't have to vote," she said at last. "As bad as this is … I think that would be worse. Unless you're in a Career district – they were probably begging for votes. But any other district … How do you choose?"

She clearly didn't expect an answer, but Amber gave her one, anyway. "You find the name of someone you don't know … and hope enough people pick someone else."

Holly looked up, and Basil knew she had come to the same conclusion he had; it was impossible to miss the guilt in Amber's voice. "But they didn't, did they," she said quietly. "So which of us did you vote for? Or both of us?"

There were tears in Amber's eyes. "I didn't realize…" But there was no good way to finish that sentence. No words that would absolve her. "You, Holly. I voted for you. And I'm sorry."

Holly's expression was blank. Lifeless. She got up, left the car without a word.

"But not me," Basil inferred from Amber's silence after Holly had left.

"No."

Basil nodded. "But, obviously, quite a few people did, or I wouldn't be here."

Amber sighed. "She's right; this is worse. At least if the drawing is random, you can blame fate. Chance. Dumb luck. I know I did." She shook her head. "Now she'll blame me, and part of me agrees with her. This whole thing is despicable."

"Yes, it is," Basil agreed. "But you're not. You're a victim, too – just as much as us. And she won't blame you. Not if I have any say." He stood up slowly and headed after Holly.

* * *

"What do you want?" Holly asked crossly as the door opened.

"Funny," came Basil's voice. "I was about to ask you the same thing. You just walked out on your best chance of getting home alive. What did you want her to say? She had no idea who either of us were. This isn't District One. Nobody _wanted_ her to vote for them. What was she supposed to do?"

"I know." And she did. But it didn't make anything better. "I hate that she had to vote at all. That they could do something like that in the first place. I hate the Games! I hate the Capitol! I hate it all!"

Silence. "Fair enough," Basil agreed. "I think that goes for the lot of us. So what do you _want_?"

"I want the Games gone. I want to be off this train, at home. I want…" She collapsed into a chair.

"Do you want to win?"

"Yes! No! I don't know! I—"

"It's okay. Think about it."

Holly sighed. He knew her well. So she thought out her answer, and, after a moment of silence, gave it to him. "I don't want to die. But I don't want to kill, either. I don't want to play their game."

"Then play your own. Make your own rules. What's _your_ objective? What do _you_ want?"

She knew what she _didn't _want. She didn't want to die feeling like this. She didn't want all this hate bottled up inside her for these last, few, precious days. She had told herself to have fun, but how could she do that when she was so angry?

"I want to be happy," she said at last, softly. "When I die … I want to be smiling. Laughing."

Basil knelt down beside her. "Good. Because that's up to you. Keep smiling, and _you_ win – no matter who _their _Victor is."

"And you?" Holly asked. "What do you want?"

Basil looked away, then, quietly, as if it were something to be ashamed of, admitted, "I want to win. I want to live."

Holly clapped him on the back. "Then I hope you win." She smiled. And this time it wasn't forced. Didn't feel false. She enjoyed the thought of Basil winning. Going home. Back to their family. Rowan. The little ones.

"I mean that," she nodded in response to the strange look he gave her. "I hope you win."

* * *

"_Come what come may, time and the hour runs through the roughest day." ~ I, iii, 146-47_


	3. Young in Deed

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own The Hunger Games.

* * *

**Chapter Three  
****Young in Deed**

Three-year-old Moss sat in Fern's lap as they settled down to watch the tribute parade. Fern held him close, glad that this was all the boy knew of the Games. "Watch for Basil and Holly!" she reminded the children, trying hard to sound cheerful. Most of them knew better, but they pretended for the little ones, at least for tonight, that this was exciting and fun.

The costumes seemed even more glamorous – and, in a few cases, more ridiculous – than in previous years. Maybe the stylists were trying extra hard to make an impression – it was the first Quarter Quell, after all. District One was as captivating as usual, and District Two's outfits were studded with gemstones. She couldn't really tell what Three's were supposed to be – some sort of computer gadget she'd never seen.

Then came Four, their outfits covered with colorful, shining scales, their skin lined with a net-like design. Five's tributes were covered in some sort of shiny material. Not the best choice, Fern thought – no one could stand to look at them for very long. Six's stylists had probably been trying for mechanics.

Then came Seven. Fern braced herself for the traditional tree costume, but, instead, the chariot carried what looked like two large, wooden puppets, complete with strings. Fern smiled in spite of herself as first Holly and then Basil began to move with quick, jerky movements. The crowd roared with laughter. Fern wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign, but as the camera zoomed farther, it was clear her friends were having the time of their lives.

Fern barely noticed Eight and Nine – textiles and grain – but Ten caught her eye. Instead of their typical attempt at some sort of an animal, the stylists had decided on butcher costumes, complete with smocks smeared with fake blood. An odd choice, Fern thought, but it certainly made them look a bit more intimidating.

Then came Eleven – more plants – and, finally, Twelve, dressed in their usual coal miner outfits. Fern rolled her eyes, trying to decide if that was better or worse than trees, but at least someone on District Seven's design team had gotten clever this year.

* * *

Holly collapsed beside Basil on the couch. Basil smiled. "I don't think I've ever heard a crowd laugh so hard."

Holly beamed. "You should've seen Antonia's face when I told her I was _not_ wearing some stupid tree costume." She giggled. "I don't think they're used to tributes giving their input."

Amber plopped down in a chair opposite them. "You're right, if the last dozen years of trees are anything to go by. It would be easier to deal with if they could at least tell a pine tree from a pear tree, but no – give it a trunk and some green, and you've got a tree." She hesitated. "That was very brave of you, speaking out like that."

Holly shrugged. She didn't feel brave. "I just figured we should have some say – we're the ones going into the Games, after all."

"About that … I'm sorry."

Holly hesitated a moment, then got up and gave Amber a hug, hoping that would convey her feelings better than the only words she could manage: "Don't be." When she finally let go, she was smiling again. She returned to the couch beside Basil, twirling the die in her hands. "So … training starts tomorrow."

Amber nodded. "Remember what I told you before. You only have a few days to learn as much as you can. So don't bother with what you already know – or what you know you won't pick up that quickly. You're not going to become expert archers in a day. And don't ignore the other tributes. Keep your eye out for a potential ally. But … try not to get too attached."

That caught Basil off guard, because he'd almost forgotten. Six years ago, Amber and the girl from District Three had managed to take out the last of the competition together. The other girl must have lost count, thought there were a few more left. She'd fallen asleep, never suspecting a thing, and Amber had stabbed her through the heart. And, just like that, she was the Victor.

Basil shuddered, wondering if he would have been able to do that. Not that he blamed her – not really. The other girl had been stronger. Faster. Amber may not have won a fair fight.

"Don't get attached," Amber repeated, as if reading his mind. "Which is also why I recommend that you two don't team up in the arena. Neither of you would be able to live with killing the other."

"What would they do if we didn't?" Basil asked. "If it came down to the two of us, and we just … couldn't?"

Amber shrugged. "Probably sic some mutts on you, or flood the arena, or start a fire, and whoever lasted longest would win. But, trust me, you don't want it to come down to that. Separate. Find someone else. Someone you won't mind stabbing in the back, because that might be what you have to do to win."

Basil nodded. So did Holly, but she already knew she wouldn't. If she tried hard enough, she could picture herself killing someone who attacked her first. But an ally? Friends were supposed to protect each other against attackers, not bear the knives themselves.

That's what she would do. She would find someone to protect, if she could. And hope someone else killed her, so Basil wouldn't have to.

Basil sat, staring out the window, long after Holly had gone to bed. "How did you do it?" he asked Amber at last.

Amber looked up; she'd been lost in her own thoughts. But one look at Basil's face told her what he was really asking. "You mean, how can I live with myself? Do I regret killing her … Judee? The answer is, of course I do. I regret all of it. I wish none of it had happened. But I would do it again, if that's what I needed to do to get home."

"That's all I want – to go home."

"And you can. I think you have the potential. And the motivation. You just need a little push to realize what you're really capable of."

"And Holly?"

Amber shook her head. "I've mentored two kinds of tributes, Basil. Most from our district are like Holly. They don't stand a chance, and they know it, so the best they can hope for is to die with a little dignity. And I respect that – I do – but there's nothing I can do to help her with it. How she faces death is up to her alone.

"But the other kind – your kind – haven't accepted death. Which means I can help you. So get some sleep, and be ready early tomorrow. You've got a lot to learn."

* * *

After two hours at the knife-throwing station, Basil was convinced Amber had simply been trying to make him feel better. After years of working with axes, the knives felt too small, too uncontrollable, in his hands. Finally, disgusted, he stabbed a dummy point-blank and wandered over to the fire starting station.

There was only one tribute there – a tall, thin boy with sandy hair. District Nine, maybe, Basil thought, trying to pull the boy's name from his memory. Fortunately, growing up with dozens of siblings paid off; he had a good memory for names. "Duff, right?" he asked.

The boy looked up from his small pile of kindling, his expression guarded, his dark brown eyes suspicious. "Yes."

"I noticed your fire – well, actually, I noticed that you _don't_ have a fire, and the trainer wandered off."

Duff nodded. "He said he needed a break. I'm pretty hopeless with this." He shrugged. "There's not much cause to want to _start _fires in our district. Usually, we want to put them _out_."

Basil took a seat beside Duff. "Not much call for knife-throwing in our district. You looked pretty good at it earlier. Where'd you learn to do that?"

"Sometimes rats or rabbits or other animals try to get at our crops," Duff shrugged. "Birds, too."

Basil cocked an eyebrow. "You can hit a bird with a knife?" he asked skeptically.

"No, but I'm pretty handy with a slingshot." He eyed Basil curiously. "You're not very good at this."

That caught Basil by surprise. "Good at what?"

"You're looking for an ally, but you're trying to make me think it was my idea, so that I'll trust you."

Basil flushed. "I have no idea what—"

"Save it. You're not a good liar." He met Basil's gaze. "Look, we both know that, eventually, it's every man for himself. But you and I could both use a little help. So no promises about what'll happen once we're in the arena, but I can give you a few pointers with a knife or a slingshot if you show me how to get this fire started."

It wasn't exactly the easy alliance he'd been hoping for, but it was a start. Basil nodded. "You got it."

* * *

Holly watched, smiling, from her place at the first aid station, where, to the delight of her trainer, she had spent the entire morning, despite Amber's advice about traps. No one else had bothered with this station. The inexperienced tributes had seemingly more important things to learn, and the Careers – well, they were either tough enough to ignore an injury, or, if it was bad enough, they might receive help from a sponsor. Holly wasn't counting on that, and the trainer, an older man named Marcus, seemed to recognize that. So he quickly moved on from basics – which Holly already knew from years of taking care of younger siblings – to more advanced skills.

By the end of the first day, she could immobilize a broken limb – arms were harder on account of not being able to use the one you were trying to brace – and make a decent sling out of a shirt or jacket. Marcus was thrilled to see her return the next day, and was halfway through a lesson on how to apply a tourniquet when they were joined by another tribute. The girl plopped down next to a life-like dummy, popped its shoulder out of joint, replaced it, set one of its legs, then put a tourniquet on the other and amputated it.

Marcus barely hid a smile. "Somehow, I don't think you're here for a lesson."

The girl shook her head, her short, curly strawberry-blonde hair shaking back and forth. "I just spent four hours learning how to cut people apart. I needed to put something back together." She sighed. "You got a needle and thread? My amputee here's gonna get a nasty infection if I don't sew him up soon."

Marcus smiled and handed over the supplies. Holly watched, amazed, as the girl's hands flew across the dummy's leg, stitching it up quickly and expertly. After she'd finished the leg, she made several large incisions across the chest and proceeded to stitch them up, as well. "That's amazing," Holly said before she realized she had said it out loud.

The girl looked up at her with bright blue eyes, as if noticing her for the first time. "No, this is therapeutic. Relaxing. And thoroughly useless here, because if someone does this much damage, they're gonna stick around and finish the job." She sighed, absent-mindedly amputating an arm.

"Where did you learn…" Holly started, but couldn't finish.

The girl smiled a little. "My mom's a doctor. My dad's a veterinarian. Accidents happen in butcher shops. Usually fingers and toes, not arms and legs, but the basic concept's the same. Of course, it'd be harder to sew yourself up, but I think practicing that would be … frowned upon?"

The last bit was directed at Marcus, who nodded. "Stick with the dummies. You'll see plenty of real blood in the arena."

"That's the problem. If I see it in there, I'm not supposed to make it better; I'm supposed to finish them off." She tucked her knees to her chest. "I can't do this."

Holly managed a smile that she hoped was comforting. "What's your name?"

"Emilia Barton. District Ten."

"Holly Tamarack. District Seven." She held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

Emilia hesitated, but then shook Holly's hand firmly. "You, too. And your tourniquet looks good. But after you stop the bleeding, what's your plan?"

Holly looked back at the dummy. She hadn't thought about that. "Get him to a doctor?"

Emilia nodded. "Normally, yes. Arena, no. Here." She handed Holly a needle and thread. "Let's get him patched up."

* * *

Amber poured herself a second glass of juice. "So, two days of training – tell me about your allies." She turned to Basil first. "District Nine. Good choice. Between the two of you, you should be able to handle just about any kind of terrain. What's his story?"

"I'm not sure he wants me as an ally," Basil shrugged. "We've been teaching each other different things – I showed him how to start a fire, and a bit with an axe, and he's teaching me how to handle a knife. But once we're in the arena, I'm not sure."

"He is." Holly picked at her chicken. "He wants you as an ally."

"How do you know?"

Holly grinned. "I was watching everyone pretty closely the first day. He spent maybe twenty minutes at the fire station before you joined him. He _asked_ the trainer to leave. Two boys and a girl came up to him and offered to help, but he snapped at them and scared them off. He was waiting for _you_."

Basil stared. "Why?"

Holly shrugged. "Ask him."

"Not a good idea," Amber cut in. "The important thing is, he seems to trust you – as much as you can trust anyone in the Games."

"Or he's manipulating me," Basil reasoned. "So he tricked me into thinking that I was tricking him into thinking of proposing an alliance."

Amber nodded. "Sounds like he's a step or two ahead of you. But that might backfire – people like that tend to over-think things, become too paranoid or too confident. So I suggest you do the opposite. Be as honest as possible with him, don't give him any reason to doubt you. Because you can bet that if he suspects you're going to kill him, he'll try to beat you to it." She turned to Holly. "And you? District Ten—"

"Emilia. Her name's Emilia. And Basil's friend is Duff."

Amber nodded, wondering if Holly would know the name of her killer. "All right. Emilia. She's a good fit for you, and I'm sure her mentor's telling her the same thing."

"She doesn't have one – a mentor. Not really, at least. District Ten hasn't had a victor, so there's a man from the Capitol training them, but he's not really that interested. He's been doing this for twenty-five years, and all of his tributes have died. That probably saps your enthusiasm after a while."

Amber nodded, trying not to think of her own previous groups of tributes, trying not to imagine how many more were yet to come. "It does," she agreed. "So Emilia's on her own."

Holly nodded. "And so am I – at least as far as getting any help from sponsors. So, like you said, it's a good match."

Amber started to protest, but thought better of it. Holly was right, after all – she wasn't going to get any sponsors. Not with that attitude. "Okay. So you can't count on outside help, which means you'll have to use your own wits, just like I did. Run. Hide. Survive."

"As long as I can."

"Yes. As long as you can."

Holly nodded. "I'll pass that along to Emilia. We're planning to stay together."

"Good. You'll last longer that way. Now, both of you, tomorrow you'll have your individual sessions with the Gamemakers, and you'll get your training scores. Don't be upset if you don't score as high as some of the others. In fact, you might do better to aim low. Don't stand out – not to the other tributes. If you score too high, the Careers may see you as a threat, and neither of you can afford to be singled out as a target."

"So what do we do?" Basil asked.

"Keep it simple. Pick one thing you're good at, and do that until they tell you to stop. Swing an axe – show them how long you can keep it up. Holly, you said you could run – start running, show them your endurance. It won't get you a ten, but it's something."

Holly nodded agreeably, but she already had a better idea. After Amber had left the table, she turned to Basil. "I'll give it back later, but, for the training session – can I have both of those dice?"

Basil looked confused for a moment, but then smiled. "You got it, Holly."

* * *

"_We are yet but young in deed." ~ III, iv, 144_


	4. The Brows of Grace

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games is still not mine.

* * *

**Chapter Four  
****The Brows of Grace**

Tanner Morraine, Head Gamemaker, was bored.

This was his third year as Head Gamemaker, long enough to know that these individual training sessions got boring after District Four – the last of the Careers. After that came mostly feeble attempts by the other tributes to prove that they wouldn't die quite as quickly as the others.

A few minutes into the performance from the male District Seven tribute, he tuned out. The boy was good with an axe. Normal for his district. But nothing in the kid's demeanor suggested he would ever have the guts to use it on another person.

Then it was the girl's turn. She came in smiling – that was odd – and pulled something out of her pocket. Dice.

"Let's play a game," she said, trying to sound confident, but her voice was thin and nervous. "This game is called, 'None of Us Really Want to be Here.' The rules are simple. You roll the dice. Even number, I run around the room for a while, and you can deduce from that how long I'll be able to outrun my death. Odd number, I spare you the trouble of watching someone run in a circle for a while and just walk out of here." She held out the dice. "Do you want to roll, or should I?"

Tanner cocked an eyebrow, but stepped forward and took the dice. "Fair enough." He rolled.

Seven. The girl collected her dice. "Looks like the odds were in your favor." She flashed him a smile. "Happy Hunger Games." Then she left without another word.

* * *

Amber, Basil, and Holly settled down in front of the screen. Holly knew the other two were watching the numbers closely, but it was the faces that kept her attention. She wanted to remember them. Their faces. Their names. The snippets she'd managed to pick up about each.

Their humanity.

Their names weren't even on the screen, she realized – just a picture and a score. Four of the Careers – Flash, Aurora, Jasper, and Crystal – came first, nines and tens flashing below their pictures. Then Renneth and Tessa from Three – Holly had noticed them training together – each scored a five. Ward and Pearl, the brother and sister from Four, scored a nine and ten.

Blaze and Nova from Five, then Mercer and Wylles from Six. Then it was Basil's turn, and the screen flashed a five. Amber nodded. Average – exactly what they had been aiming for. Then Holly's face came onscreen, a three flashing beneath it. Basil put a hand on her shoulder, worried she might be upset, but she simply nodded, still watching the screen.

Russel and Velvet from Eight scored a five and a four. Then Duff scored a seven. Holly smiled and clapped Basil on the back. Rayne – the girl from Nine – only managed a two. Holly winced, hoping she had been trying to score low. She had been certain her three would be the lowest, but apparently there were things that impressed the Gamemakers even less than walking out on your session.

Justin – the boy from Ten – and Emilia each scored a five. Emmer and Aster from Eleven scored a six and a five, and Robyn and Flint from Twelve each scored a four. Then the screen switched off.

Amber nodded. "All right. No huge surprises. Get a good rest, both of you. Tomorrow we'll start preparing for interviews."

Holly nodded, gave Basil a high-five, and headed to her room. But Basil lingered, curious. "What was your score?"

Amber smiled a little. "Mine was a four. That's part of what made Judee agree to work with me, I think. She never saw me as a threat."

"Until it was too late," Basil nodded.

Amber caught the look in his eye. "Basil, if it makes you feel any better, what happened in my Games isn't the norm. Chances are, someone else will kill him before it comes down to you two."

Basil nodded. "Or someone will kill me."

Amber shook her head. "Don't start thinking like that, Basil, because you won't be able to stop. Once you give up, it's over. And, above all, don't let that attitude show in your interview tomorrow. No one's going to sponsor a tribute who doesn't think he can win."

* * *

Even surrounded by dozens of children, Rowan couldn't help feeling terribly alone as she watched two of her own take the stage for their interviews. The older children had managed to coax some of the younger ones to bed early, and now huddled close around Rowan. But their closeness wasn't what she needed. She longed to reach through the television, wrap Basil and Holly in her arms, and carry them home to safety. Tears were in her eyes as the interviews began.

The first several tributes were strong. Confident. Ruthless. Rowan shuddered, wondering which was worse – the idea that one of them might kill her children, or the thought that Basil and Holly might starve or freeze or bleed to death slowly, alone.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't realize Holly's name had been called until one of the little girls pointed at the screen and shouted her big sister's name.

Rowan brushed a few tears from her eyes and tried to smile. Apparently, one of Holly's stylists knew a thing or two about plants, because she was dressed in the colors of her namesake – a bright, cheery green dress lined with a vibrant red, the same shade as holly berries.

The host, Cornelius Juniper, must have noticed, too, because one of the first things he asked her was if her name had a meaning.

The shy smile on Holly's face told Rowan that she'd been hoping for this question, or one like it. A chance to say something she had prepared, something important. "It does," she said softly, struggling to maintain eye contact. Rowan smiled encouragingly, as if Holly could see her. Holly's fingers were fiddling nervously with something, but she took a deep breath and continued. "We have cold winters in District Seven, but you'll see holly berries all through the winter. They always bring a little happiness and joy."

Cornelius nodded understandingly. "You do seem rather happy."

Holly looked up. "I'm trying to be. Trying to enjoy this as long as I can, because I know it's not going to last. Once we're in the arena … everything changes." She turned to the camera. "But I'm not going to. That's a promise, Moss." She held out her hand, revealing two dice.

"What are those?" Cornelius asked, leaning forward, his fingers laced together eagerly.

"I'm a toymaker." Holly turned back to the host. "Well, technically, I'm an apprentice carpenter, but what I really love is toymaking. I made these a few months ago for one of my little brothers. When he…" She turned back to the camera, correcting herself. "Moss, when you came to say goodbye to me, you gave me these and told me to have fun at the Games. And I will." Her hands returned to fiddling nervously with the dice. She'd said her piece.

But Cornelius wasn't finished. "As a toymaker, you probably know a thing or two about games. Can you give us any pointers about how to win?" he asked with a teasing smile.

Holly took a moment to answer, and Rowan knew she was thinking through her response. "My mom – Rowan – she always told us that it … it isn't whether you win or lose that's important, but how you play the game. And I … I know I'm almost out of time, Cornelius, but I'd like to do something – something important." Without glancing up to see if she had his permission, she turned and addressed her fellow tributes. "I'm glad I met each of you."

Then, wordlessly, she approached one end of the line – the boy from Twelve – and held out her hand. After only a moment's hesitation, he shook it. She continued down the line. A few stubbornly refused the gesture – the girl from Two, the boy from One – but most of them did shake her hand. Then, just as silently, she returned to where Basil sat, returned the dice to him, and shook his hand firmly. He rose and placed a hand on her shoulder, and she returned the gesture. For a moment, they stood there, silent. Then Holly took her seat, and Basil took his place beside Cornelius.

"I don't know if I can top that," Basil admitted with a smile.

By then, Cornelius had recovered his wits. "At the Reaping, you said she was your sister."

Basil nodded. "We grew up together in the orphanage. So I guess it makes a bit of sense that our district would vote us in."

Rowan tensed. She had been dreading something like this – someone blaming their district for being cruel, heartless, for believing some people wouldn't be missed. But she hadn't expected it to be Basil.

But then he clarified. "Because we're survivors. We've already beaten the odds just by being alive. So it only makes sense that we'd have the best chance of repeating that feat." He flashed a smile at Holly. "We're like those holly berries my sister's named after. We don't just survive the harsh winters – we thrive. We grow. And we end up stronger." He turned to the cameras. "So to our district, I'd just like to say, thank you for your confidence in us."

Cornelius nodded. "It would seem they made the right choice. So, tell me, what's it like – both of you being here? Having your own sister as an opponent?"

Rowan caught Basil glancing at the brother and sister from Four, perhaps wondering if they shared his thoughts. "She's not an opponent," he said firmly. "I could never see her as an opponent. It's hard enough seeing twenty-two other teenagers and trying to imagine killing _them_. If I try hard enough, I can picture that … but not her."

Rowan could see Holly nodding in the background, and she smiled. Their interviews weren't going to win either of them any points with the Capitol audience, but the children gathered around her couldn't be prouder.

The buzzer sounded, and Basil took his seat, reaching over to place a hand on Holly's. Rowan barely heard the rest of the interviews. She'd heard what she'd needed to hear.

And she was so proud.

* * *

"_That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose. Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell; though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, yet grace must still look so." ~ IV, iii, 21-24_

* * *

**Author's Note: **Next chapter, the Games begin! Predictions, anyone?


	5. Through the Fog

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games is still not mine.

* * *

**Chapter Five  
****Through the Fog****  
**

Basil and Holly hugged each other tight for what they knew was probably the last time. Basil held his sister close until Amber reluctantly told them they had to go. Only once she was out of sight did Basil whisper, "Goodbye, Holly."

They were ushered to separate hovercrafts that would take them to the arena. Amber went with Basil as far as she could, but both were silent. She had already given him all the advice she could. It was up to him now to put it into practice. Basil and Duff had decided to team up after all, but Basil wondered how long it would last. Duff's reasoning had been that, together, they might be able to make it away from the Cornucopia with better supplies. His plans after that weren't clear.

Of course, a lot would depend on what the arena was like, and Basil had no idea what to expect. He was hoping for trees, but there was no guarantee of that. The plan – such as it was – was to grab what supplies they could, make a run for the nearest cover – whatever that happened to be – and watch each other's backs.

He was taken to a small room below the arena, where his stylist helped him into a tan-and-grey jumpsuit. Not particularly promising camouflage for trees, Basil acknowledged reluctantly. Tight brown socks, thin shoes. Then onto the platform, where he waited for maybe a minute or two before it slowly began to rise.

Up. Up. He tucked the wooden die Holly had given him into his pocket. Up. At last, he could see a little of the arena. But something was wrong. Very wrong. Maybe there was something wrong with his eyes.

No, he could still see his hand as he held it up, but everything else was shrouded in a dense fog. Basil took a deep breath of the humid air and tried to tell himself this was a good thing. It wasn't dry. Wasn't hot. It would make it easier to collect water. And, more immediately, it would make it easier to get away from the Cornucopia unnoticed.

Slowly, he could make out a little more – enough to tell that he was directly behind the Cornucopia, farthest away from the mouth. He looked around. Were those mountains off to the left? Maybe. And those waving plants to the right were probably fields. Tall. Protective. Shelter. Not trees, but the thick grain was almost as good, and certainly where Duff would go.

Duff. Looking around, he finally spotted his ally. Duff pointed to the fields, and Basil nodded his assent. Then Duff pointed towards the ground, maybe twenty feet in front of Basil. Confused, Basil looked for something helpful there, but all he saw was a pair of thick, heavy boots. Not much use for trying to move quickly.

But a few yards farther in was a backpack, so Basil nodded, making a plan as the seconds ticked away. Run in. Grab the backpack. Pick up the boots on the way back. Run for the fields. Simple. Straightforward. As long as no one came after him. But the Careers would almost certainly head straight for the other side of the Cornucopia – the mouth where all the best supplies were piled. And the fog would help. Maybe he could get away. That was the only part of the plan he cared about now – getting away as quickly as possible.

He glanced around once more, but, in the fog, he could only see the half-dozen tributes closest to him. No sign of Holly.

The gong sounded, and Basil took off, racing towards the backpack. A girl sped past him in the fog, but she was headed farther in. His hand closed around a strap, and he flung it over his back as he reached down with the other hand, snatching up the pair of boots. They were heavy. But instinct told him that Duff was right. If they were in the arena, they were there for a reason, and would probably be useful sooner or later – likely sooner.

Basil sprinted for the fields. The sand was soft beneath his shoes, and once or twice he almost tripped. Duff was at his side in an instant, moving fast but also ducking low. Of course – the fog was thicker close to the ground. Basil quickly copied his ally.

Then he heard Holly's voice – or, at least, it sounded like hers – shout, "Go!" He didn't know who she was shouting to, but it spurred him on faster towards the safety of the fields. Duff led the way, with Basil close behind, glancing back every now and then. But there was no sign of pursuit, and the shoulder-high grain hid them well.

Five minutes. Ten. At last, Duff's pace slowed. Basil followed suit; Duff would be able to keep his sense of direction better than he would in the fields. On they ran, eventually no longer bothering to crouch lower. _This isn't so bad_, Basil thought. They just needed to keep putting distance between themselves and the fighting. Run. Hide. Survive. Maybe they really could do this. Maybe—

But his hopeful images of returning to see his brothers and sisters were interrupted by a sudden, sharp pain in his ankle. Terrified, he realized why Duff had pointed to the boots, of all things. As the snake slithered off, its deed done, he instinctively reached for an axe that wasn't there. But it was too late. Pain coursed through his body as he sank to his knees.

Duff turned back at the sound and rushed to his ally's side, cursing quietly. "I didn't think we'd see any until farther in. I'm so sorry. I—"

Basil shook his head. Pain was quickly turning to numbness. He sank down against the sand, his hand reaching into his pocket, fingers groping. Fumbling blindly, he pulled out the wooden die and pressed it into Duff's hand. Duff nodded his understanding.

Basil stared out into the fog, watching it shift and blur before his eyes. He felt Duff take his hand tightly. The pain was gone. Tiredness had taken its place. So tired. He closed his eyes.

* * *

Duff gritted his teeth. Stupid. So pointlessly stupid. They should have stopped as soon as they were reasonably far away and put the boots on. Duff stared at Basil's lifeless body. That could just as easily have been him. But Basil was dead. And he was alive. And he meant to stay that way.

Quickly, he pulled off his own shoes and slipped on the pair of boots he had snatched from near the Cornucopia. Worse for running, but the protection was worth it. He opened Basil's backpack and dumped the contents into his own without a glance. No time to stop yet. He had to keep moving.

Last of all, he tucked the die in his pocket, hoping his own luck would be better than its last owner's.

* * *

Holly lay as still as she could in the sand and the mist, waiting. Watching. Hoping. And, to her own surprise, smiling.

She had been reaching for a small pack of supplies when a knife had come flying out of nowhere. She had been lucky – it had only nicked her side, embedding itself in the ground behind her. But she had dropped to the ground, anyway, yelling to Emilia to go. Because, in that split second, she had formed a plan.

It was a dangerous plan, but it was her only chance now. As she'd hoped, the boy who had thrown the knife assumed she was dead. He hadn't even bothered to retrieve the knife; there were plenty more where that one had come from. And the dense fog – thicker down where she lay – kept her from appearing to be anything more than a dead body.

So, little by little, inch by inch, she had been moving. Scrounging. Bits of food lay scattered around the edges, ignored by those fighting over the more substantial bounty at the mouth of the Cornucopia. Now, maybe an hour after the start of the Games, her little backpack was stuffed with all the food and medical supplies she could cram inside.

She didn't dare fill another, although one lay nearby. It would take time, and two might be more than she could carry at a reasonable speed. Now was not the time to be greedy. Now was the time to make an escape. Last of all, she reached for the knife, which had only a faint trace of her own blood on it, and tucked it inside her pack. It wouldn't be much good in a fight, if it came to that, but it could skin an animal, peel bark off a tree, cut bandages, and any number of other things.

Slowly – very slowly – she began to crawl away from the Cornucopia. Mountains loomed in the distance. How far, she couldn't tell, but this was the way Emilia had run. Inch by inch, she escaped the eyes of those dividing the spoils.

She chose her moment carefully. From what she could see – which wasn't much in the fog, but it was enough – most, if not all, of those still alive were inside the Cornucopia itself. She rose slowly to her feet. No sudden movements. Not yet. Quietly. Slowly. Until she could no longer see them.

Then she ran.

Not fast, but far. It was nearly an hour, she guessed, before she stopped, but the mountains seemed little closer. Vaguely, she remembered hearing once that flat lands could seem to stretch on forever, and you could see for hundreds of miles. Probably the mountains weren't _hundreds_ of miles away, but she wondered if she could reach them before nightfall.

Absently, she wondered what difference nightfall would even make. The fog seemed to cover the whole arena, making it difficult to see anything but the largest shapes. The tops of the mountains stretched above the fog, but she could see little else. She shuddered. She would never see someone stalking her.

No. No, none of that. The fog was her ally. The ally of any tribute whose main goal was to avoid, to evade, to hide. Which was quite a few of them, Holly reasoned, judging by the number of tributes who had simply fled from the Cornucopia. Maybe that was part of the uniqueness of this Quarter Quell. The more tributes survived the bloodbath, the more deaths would be shown later on.

But that didn't matter right now. Right now, all that mattered was that, whatever the reason behind the Gamemakers' decision, she was still alive. And still smiling.

Holly adjusted her pack and moved on at a brisk walk, wondering which of the mountains Emilia would head for. They hadn't planned on being separated. Never given any thought to how to find each other. And it was a big arena, with a lot of mountains.

_Start with the closest_, Holly reasoned. If nothing else, Emilia would know the mountains would give them their best chance of shelter for the night, and make for whichever one she could reach the quickest. And she'd had at least an hour's head start. Holly smiled. Emilia was probably safe.

And what about Basil? She hadn't caught any glimpse of him in the fog. She didn't even know what lay in the other directions – only that she hadn't seen any sign of trees, and mountains seemed the next best thing as far as shelter. Was Basil headed there, too? Would she have seen him go by? Basil had said he and Duff would try to get as much as possible from the Cornucopia. Had they made it out?

Holly tried not to think about that – about the possibility that one of the cannons she was sure to hear later would be his. The chance that, when the faces of the dead flashed in the sky that night, his would look back at her.

No. No, if she had survived, he could, too. He had to live. He had to make it home. That was what he wanted.

It was well into the afternoon before she heard the cannons. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

And then they stopped. Only six. Only a quarter of them had died. Holly finally allowed herself to stop, open her pack, and eat a few pieces of dried apple. Usually around half the tributes died in the bloodbath. Would the audience be disappointed? Or excited for the twist, for more blood later on?

And who were the six? Holly glanced at her side, at the small cut she'd already bandaged. A few inches to the right, and it would have been seven. Slowly, she stood up again. Her legs protested, but the mountains were starting to look a little closer.

* * *

It was nearly dark by the time Holly reached the base of the nearest mountain. Climbing in the dark would be dangerous, so she set about looking for a place to spend the night and quickly settled on a small crevice between two boulders. It was narrow, and the ground was uncomfortable, but it was as safe a spot as she was going to find. She set out a small, two-foot piece of tarp she had managed to scavenge and weighted the corners down with rocks. Then she ate a little of a loaf of bread and waited.

She didn't have to wait long. The anthem began to play, and the Capitol seal flashed in the sky, clear even through to fog. Then the first of the dead tributes.

Renneth, the boy from Three, was the first. Then Nova, the girl from Five. Wylles, the girl from Six. Holly tensed, hoping, but the next picture confirmed her fears. "No!" she cried aloud before she could stop herself. No. Not Basil. He was supposed to win. He was supposed to go home.

"Holly?" The voice startled her. It sounded close.

Holly sprang to her feet, but relaxed once she realized the voice was familiar. "Emilia?" she called softly, as the faces of Russel from Eight and Flint from Twelve appeared. "Emilia?"

"Here."

Holly gathered her supplies and followed the sound blindly up the slope of the mountain. But not too far up. Maybe thirty feet farther than she had ventured earlier, she found Emilia at the mouth of a large cave.

"Holly?" Emilia asked, still not quite believing her eyes. "I thought—"

"You thought I died at the Cornucopia." Holly collapsed beside her friend, revealing her bulging pack. "I didn't really have the chance to be choosy; I just grabbed anything within crawling distance that looked like food or medicine. We can sort it out in the morning." She tried hard to smile, but, for once, she couldn't.

Emilia put an arm around her friend. "I'm sorry about your brother."

Holly gave up trying to hold back her tears. "It isn't fair. He was stronger. Faster. He thought he could win. But I'm here, and he's…" She trailed off. "He's on his way home," she finished at last. "The kids, they'll be devastated." She tucked her knees to her chest. "Any idea where Justin is?"

Emilia shook her head. "We kind of mutually agreed we should split up."

Holly nodded. "Basil and I said the same thing. I thought I would hurt his chances, slow him down." She shook her head. "You should get some sleep. I won't be able to for a while, so I might as well keep watch." She looked around a little. "How far back does the cave go?"

"Far," Emilia answered vaguely. "I didn't go too far in – didn't want to get lost. Maybe tomorrow, in daylight."

Holly nodded. Yes. That was it. One day at a time. Tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow.

She silently wondered how many tomorrows she had left.

* * *

"_Fair is foul and foul is fair; hover through the fog and filthy air." ~ I, i, 9-10_


	6. To Catch the Nearest Way

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games still isn't mine.

* * *

**Chapter Six  
****To Catch the Nearest Way****  
**

Holly was startled awake by the sound of a cannon. She didn't even remember falling asleep. It was a little lighter out – dawn. Beside her, Emilia bolted upright. But there was no hovercraft – not nearby, at least. For the moment, they were safe.

Holly and Emilia both emptied their packs. In addition to the food Holly had managed to gather, there was a small first aid kit, gauze, a needle and thread, a box of matches, a few small bundles of cloth that could be used for bandages, an empty bottle, and a small slingshot. But mostly food. So they shared a few strips of dried beef and what was left of the loaf of bread, then poured the water that had collected on Holly's small tarp during the night into the bottle and drank a few sips each.

Another cannon. But still no hovercraft anywhere in sight. Not that 'anywhere in sight' was all that far in the fog, but at least they would be able to hear it if it were close. "Maybe the Careers went the other way," Emilia offered hopefully.

"What was in the other direction?" Holly asked. Emilia had started closer to the other side.

"A field, I think – and close, too. I think most of the tributes went that way, got to shelter as quickly as they could."

Holly nodded. "Then maybe we'll be safe for a while."

"Still, we should keep moving."

"Into the cave, then?" Holly asked.

Emilia looked back into the cave. It was dark. And it seemed to go on a long ways. Maybe – just maybe – all the way to the other side of the mountains. "All right," she agreed after a moment. "Let's see where it leads."

* * *

They packed everything except the matches, which Emilia tucked in her pocket. "We'll have to use them carefully; they won't last forever. But it's better than nothing."

Holly nodded and shouldered her pack, grinning. "All right, let's see what's in here. I'll go first," she offered.

Emilia didn't object – and actually seemed a bit relieved – so Holly plunged into the cave. Soon, they left the light of the entrance far behind. Holly kept one hand on the wall to her right, the other holding Emilia's, guiding her. At first, they went very slowly, cautious of every step, worried that they might step out into thin air. But after what must have been hours, the path had done nothing but slope slowly and steadily down, down beneath the mountains.

Then, suddenly, the passageway began to narrow. The ceiling crept lower and lower. Holly shuddered. Not good. They ducked lower and lower, finally crawling on their hands and knees. On and on in the dark.

Holly could hear Emilia breathing heavily behind her. Not from physical exertion – the crawling had slowed their pace considerably. "Emilia?" Holly asked, her voice echoing strangely off the stones. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Good."

_Liar_, Holly thought, but what she said was, "Just a little farther, then we'll stop for lunch. I think it gets wider up here." She was lying, too, of course; there was no way of knowing how long the narrowness would continue.

"Can we … can we light a match? Just for a moment? Please? I just—"

"Of course," Holly readily agreed. "You've got the matches."

It was too tight a space to turn around, but she was still relieved by the sudden light, sharp and strong, that flooded the small tunnel. The path wound on, but, to Holly's relief, didn't appear to be getting any narrower. A small spider scurried by Holly's hand as the light went out. "Hello there," she said with a smile, wondering what other animals were nearby.

After maybe twenty minutes, Holly guessed, she began to see an odd light ahead. Emilia must have noticed it, too, because her pace quickened behind Holly. Suddenly, without any warning, the walls fell away, revealing an open chamber. A single beam of light fell through a gap in the rock high above their heads. Holly stood up slowly on wobbly legs and looked around, grinning. "Fantastic!"

From the look on Emilia's face, that wasn't quite the word she would have used. She was looking around at the various tunnels and passageways that led out of the chamber. "I … I think I'll tie something around a rock near this one – so we'll remember which one we came through."

Holly nodded, still beaming, as she opened her pack and pulled out a little food for lunch. "This is amazing. We could spend years exploring all these tunnels."

Emilia shook her head. "Holly, we don't have years. We only have a few weeks, at the most, before either the Careers find us, or—"

"Do you really think they could squeeze through that passage? _We_ barely fit."

"But that's not the only way in here. And who knows what else is in these tunnels? And eventually we'll have to find water. And—" Her voice was growing hysterical now. "Holly, I don't want to die in here. In a cave. Surrounded by rocks. Trapped. Trapped down here forever." She sank to her knees.

Holly wrapped her arms around her friend. "Easy. Easy. It's okay – really. We'll eat, rest a little, and see where these other passages lead. Like you said, that's not the only way in, so some of these probably lead out." She hugged Emilia close. "We'll be fine. You will _not_ die in here."

"How do you know?"

Holly shrugged. "Because they have to be able to collect the body. No hovercraft's getting down any of these tunnels. So let's eat." She offered her friend some dried apple slices and opened a pack of crackers to share.

After eating and resting for a while, they tried a tunnel directly opposite the one they had entered through. But it soon grew too cramped for even them to crawl through, so back they went. By the time they made it back to the open chamber, the light was gone, so they settled down for the night.

The anthem played – it sounded strange here, beneath the mountains – but they couldn't see any faces; the opening in the rocks was too small, or facing the wrong way. Nor had they heard any cannons since entering the tunnels. Either there had been no more deaths, or it was impossible to hear. Being cut off from the rest of the arena had its disadvantages. No way of knowing who had died, who was left.

Which would matter if she were keeping score. As it was, Holly was perfectly content not to have the faces of the dead staring back at her tonight. Huddled together for warmth – now that they had stopped moving, the chill was sharper – Holly and Emilia drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Three faces. Three kills. And all theirs. Ward settled down next to the fire he shared with the other Careers. It had been a good day for hunting. They had found both tributes from Eleven and the girl from Nine hiding in the fields. The two from Eleven – they had been working as a team – had at least put up a fight, but the girl from Nine had gone down screaming and begging for mercy. Pathetic.

They drew straws – matches, actually – and Flash, the boy from One, drew the first watch. The rest of them settled down to sleep.

* * *

Duff clenched his fists tightly. He had been nearby when they had killed Rayne. Close enough to hear her screams. But he hadn't tried to help. Hadn't even thought about it, really. There were six of them. Armed. And by the time he got there, she would already have been dead. And he would have quickly followed.

They hadn't been friends. Not really. Not nearly enough to justify him being this upset. But he was. And as he threw another rock at the body of a dead snake, he had only one thought: since he couldn't save her, he would do the next best thing.

* * *

A cannon. Ward's eyes shot open. It wasn't quite dawn, but there was a little light as he quickly glanced around for any sign of who may have died. A hovercraft. Anything to indicate which direction they should hunt in next – where to find the tribute who had killed another.

The other Careers were on their feet just as quickly – all except Jasper, who lay motionless by the fire. Ward whirled around, looking instead for a fleeing attacker, but still saw no one. But Crystal, kneeling by Jasper's side, confirmed his suspicions. The cannon had been his.

* * *

"_Yet do I fear thy nature. It is too full of the milk of human kindness to catch the nearest way." ~ I, v, 16-18_


	7. Less than Horrible Imaginings

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own The Hunger Games.

* * *

**Chapter Seven  
****Less than Horrible Imaginings**

Emilia tied a small piece of thread around a rock near the entrance to a larger tunnel, hoping this one would work out better than the last one. Holly was still grinning like a maniac – a smile that was beginning to unnerve Emilia, who secretly wondered if her companion was entirely sane.

They had started exploring at daylight, following a smaller tunnel, but had turned back after finding a steep drop-off that they would have fallen off had Holly not reacted so quickly after one of her hands – they had been crawling – hadn't found a place to rest. There was no telling exactly how deep it went, but a stone they had dropped over the edge had taken several seconds to make a sound.

So back they had come, and now they turned to one of the larger tunnels. Holly had secretly been reluctant to try these; wider tunnels meant the possibility of larger animals. So far, they had only seen small spiders and lizards, not even big enough to consider eating. But in those larger passageways? Who knew what they might find.

Still, Holly said nothing of the sort to Emilia; she was scared enough as it was. But, to her own surprise, Holly wasn't. This large, underground chamber seemed somehow open and welcoming, its numerous arms full of mystery. She flashed Emilia a smile and led the way into the dark.

After a few hours, Holly stepped in something slimy, nearly toppling backwards. She stooped down. The rocks were slippery. That meant water. A few steps farther in, the water began to soak through her shoes. "Should we risk a match?" she asked.

Emilia didn't reply – she hadn't said much in the last few hours – but a light filled the passageway. Holly took in as much as she could. A pond – maybe a lake – lay in front of them, blocking the passage, but Holly could see that it continued on the other side. A few fish swam away from the light. No way around that she could see, and no knowing how deep the water was without testing it themselves. The light went out.

"Well, let's have a drink, at least," Holly suggested, pulling out their bottle. "Then we can decide what to do."

"Can you swim?" Emilia asked.

"No," Holly admitted. "You?"

"No."

"We don't know how deep it is, though," Holly pointed out. "We may be able to wade across. It's worth a try."

"Okay," Emilia said softly, but Holly could tell she wasn't thrilled about the idea.

"And if that doesn't work, we'll turn around and try another one," Holly reasoned. "And at least now we know how to find a water source. This isn't so bad, is it?"

"Yes, it is. If anyone catches us here, we're dead – nowhere to run."

"No one's going to catch us. Here." She passed the bottle of water. "Drink this. It'll cheer you up."

Emilia said nothing, but took the bottle and drank. "Okay," she said at last. "What's your plan for finding out how deep the water is?"

Holly shrugged, then remembered that Emilia couldn't see her, either. "I wade in, carefully, one foot at a time. If it gets too deep or I find a drop-off, I come back. If I get to the other side, it's safe."

"Do you want me to…?" Emilia started to offer, hoping Holly would say no.

"No, I'll do it. Only makes sense. I'm shorter than you, so if I make it across without going under, we know you can, too. Okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

Her little expedition didn't last long. No more than twenty steps in, the water was up to her neck, and the bottom showed no signs of stopping its downward slope. Next Holly tried keeping to the edge of the lake, both on the right and the left. She made it a little farther before those, too, became too deep.

"There are bigger fish farther in," she remarked, drying off, safely back on the rocks. "A few brushed my leg. If we could catch one, that would help – another source of food." Emilia was still silent. "Emilia? You all right?"

"No," Emilia admitted. "The days in the training center, I was terrified – but only of the other tributes. Scared to death of being … of being hacked to pieces with an axe or sword, being shot, bleeding to death. But I always imagined it happening out in the open – in a field or a forest. I just feel so alone down here."

"But alone is good," Holly reminded her. "Alone means we're safe."

"From the other tributes, yes! But not from—from—"

"From what?" Holly asked, suddenly impatient. "What is it that you're so afraid of down here? So far, we've seen spiders. Lizards. And fish. I think I may have heard a toad or two. Other than that, it's just been—"

"Dark!" Emilia finished. "All right? I'm scared of the dark – Is that what you wanted me to say? There's always light at home. Always a light somewhere, because you have to be ready to get up in the middle of the night to help a patient. And the sun – it doesn't go down as soon, and the sky is so clear that even on the nights with no moon, you can see by the stars. So, yeah, I'm scared of the dark! There – my secret's out!"

Holly stared for a moment, dumbfounded, in the direction of Emilia's voice. "I had no idea—"

"No, because you've been busy having the time of your life – risking your neck and grinning like an idiot about it. Don't argue; I can hear the smile in your voice. You're enjoying this! You're having fun! And I'm – I'm terrified, because if you do something stupid and die, I'll be all alone down here! _Really_ alone. So just … just don't die…" She trailed off into tears.

Holly held back a smile, then remembered that Emilia couldn't see her, anyway. "I'll try not to. Really. I promise, I'll try very hard not to die." She put a sopping wet arm around her friend. "We'll find a way out of here. We'll get you back out in the sun and the moon and stars. We can even go back the way we came, if—"

"No. No, you were right about that. Our best chance of avoiding the Careers is to keep moving in one direction – away from them."

"All right," Holly agreed, filling the bottle again. "A different path, then. Do you want to head back now or rest a little first?"

"Let's … let's rest a little," Emilia suggested. "It must be nearly nighttime. When we wake up, we can drink some more, and by the time we get back to the main chamber, there may be some light."

"Sounds good," Holly agreed. "And, Emilia?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're with me. And I _will_ get you out of here."

"Promise?" Emilia asked, shaking.

She sounded so young. Holly held her friend close as if she were a little child arriving at the orphanage, abandoned by everyone else. But not by her. "I promise," Holly said softly, trying hard not to let the words sound empty. "Now get some sleep. Tomorrow we'll find a way out of here."

* * *

Ward smiled. It was raining. And rain, he knew, would finally rid them of this infernal fog. Come morning, they would be able to see, and all the little tributes who had felt sheltered by the weather would regret staying close. Whoever had attacked Jasper would regret staying close. They would find him. And they would make him regret his recklessness.

* * *

Duff shivered, cursing the weather. All the snakes were hiding. Nothing left to do but put as much distance as possible between himself and the Careers.

The only face in the sky had been Jasper's. His kill. His first. He'd expected to feel something. Remorse. Satisfaction. Guilt. Accomplishment. Instead, that one death only reminded him of how many more were to come. And how easily he could be next.

He was so lost in thought, he almost didn't see the parachute that landed inches from his feet. Inside the small container was a vial of … what? He removed the lid and gave it a whiff, instantly recognizing it as a special oil that attracted snakes. His uncle used something similar-smelling to lure snakes close enough to catch them and collect their venom, which he used to make the antidote.

Duff grinned. Ross, his mentor, had warned him not to count on getting sponsors, but, apparently, enough people liked a tribute who was willing to take on the Careers this early in the game, rather than waiting until he was forced to confront them. Duff looked up, knowing cameras were trained on him. "Thank you. I'll put it to use right away."

Stumbling across the snake the day before had been an accident. He hadn't been trying to kill it, just trying not to _be_ killed. Now all that had to change.

He was going hunting.

* * *

Aurora yawned. The rain had stopped, but it was still a few hours before dawn. The rain had soaked everything, but she, her fellow Careers, and a good amount of the supplies were safe inside the Cornucopia.

Slowly, she got to her feet. If she didn't stretch a little, and soon, she knew, she would fall asleep. And she couldn't risk that. Not after what had happened to Jasper.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in the back of her neck. Her hand flew back, her mouth opened to scream, to warn the others, but she couldn't. Her muscles wouldn't work right. Instead, she slumped to the ground, catching only a brief glimpse of the boy who leapt lightly off the Cornucopia and padded away quickly on bare feet to the edge of the field, where he had left his boots.

* * *

Duff ran as fast as he could, even though he knew the others wouldn't be following him for a while. It was been tempting – so tempting – to wait for the others to emerge, to take them all out at once.

But now wasn't the time for risks. He could afford to be patient. Besides, picking them off one at a time would give the audience a better show. He had their attention. And he meant to keep it.

He reached the edge of the grain, laced up his boots, and grinned at the night sky. "Two down."

But she wasn't dead. Not yet. Only paralyzed. And that fact gave him time to make his escape. A few hours later, when the cannon sounded, he was far away.

* * *

"_Present fears are less than horrible imaginings." ~ I, iii, 137-38_


	8. The Way to Dusty Death

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games is still not mine.

* * *

**Chapter Eight  
****The Way to Dusty Death**

Back in the main chamber, Emilia and Holly shared a small meal. It was around midday, Holly guessed, but had no way of being certain. At Holly's suggestion, they had agreed to explore at night – because the dark didn't really make a difference – and spend their days in the large chamber where it was lighter. At least until they found a way out.

Emilia had been more talkative after that, for which Holly was grateful. They were all each other had, after all. Chances were, they would die together. So Holly was glad that Emilia had decided to live with her, too.

"So, why a toymaker?" Emilia asked, nodding towards the die that Holly was fiddling again.

Holly looked down at the die, chuckling softly. "You mean, why not something useful? Like furniture? Tools? Books?" She thought for a moment. "I have a lot of younger brothers and sisters, and I learned that it doesn't take much to make them happy. A pair of dice. A carved animal. A doll. A top. A flute. It was something I could give them. Something real that they could see and touch, but that meant so much more."

"My brother was the same way."

Holly looked up. "You never said you had a brother."

"He's dead. He was in the Games twelve years ago. I was five. I barely remember him. But he … he was always smiling, too." She looked away. "He was twelve. Just twelve. He died the first day. My parents tried to keep me from watching it, but they played the recap at school. He never made it away from the Cornucopia. He had a – a deep gash, right here." She ran her hand across her chest. "And I remember, five years old, thinking that if I ever saw someone hurt like that, I wanted to be able to fix it."

Before Holly could react, there was a rumbling sound in one of the tunnels. The girls were on their feet in an instant. There was just enough light to see something large emerge from a far passageway. Holly snatched up the pack, not bothering with the bits of food laid out on the rocks. "Go!" she shouted. "One of the smaller ones! Where it won't be able to follow!"

Emilia didn't need to be told twice. All her fear of dark, tight spaces paled in comparison to her immediate fear of what she could now see was a very large spider. She ran for the nearest tunnel – a small one they hadn't yet explored – and ducked inside, Holly close on her heels.

On they plunged into the darkness, the tunnel slowly sloping downwards. Holly was right; the spider was too large to follow them. But if they turned back, it would almost certainly be waiting. They had no choice but to continue, and hope.

After maybe twenty minutes, Emilia slowed a little. She wanted nothing more than for Holly to take the lead, but the tunnel was too narrow to switch places. "It's okay," Holly said encouragingly. "No rush. It can't follow us. We can rest a little, if you'd like."

But resting was worse. Dark and cramped and uncomfortable. So they kept moving. Crawling. Slowly.

At last, when they could go no farther without a rest, they stopped. Emilia's throat was dry, but, in their panic, they hadn't grabbed the water bottle. _Oh, well_, she thought. It had been nearly empty, anyway; they had meant to make a trip back to the pool that night.

Night. Maybe it was now. No way to tell. Emilia suggested that they try to get some sleep, but it was useless. So they simply lay there in the dark, saving their strength. And hoping that, if this tunnel led out of the caverns, there wouldn't be something worse on the other side.

* * *

When they had waited as long as either of them could stand, they continued on. The passage started to slope upwards again. Holly followed blindly behind Emilia, hoping she had been right about the Gamemakers not letting them die down here.

"I see something!" Emilia called suddenly. "Daylight!"

Holly's heart leapt. "Fantastic! Keep going!" They both crawled faster at the thought that maybe, just maybe, they were close.

And then she could see it, too – up ahead, very faint. The first hint of dawn, perhaps. Then Emilia was out. Holly grinned as she crawled a few more feet.

Suddenly, her hand brushed something. A wire. She had just enough time to realize what a wire was doing at the mouth of a cave – and to be grateful that Emilia, at least, had somehow missed it – before what felt like half a mountain came tumbling down behind her.

* * *

"Look out!" Emilia screamed, but it was too late. The trap had done its work. Emilia whirled around, looking for whoever might have set it, and spotted a boy running towards them. As soon as he saw what had happened, though, the boy stopped, staring in amazement and horror, then turned and ran quickly away.

Emilia didn't even think about following him. Clearly, the trap hadn't been meant for them. Holly groaned softly, and Emilia was at her friend's side in an instant. "It's okay. You'll be okay. Let's get you out of there." She didn't know if that would be possible, but she had to try.

It could have been worse. Holly had somehow had the presence of mind to lurch forward a little after realizing the trap. Only her legs were pinned, and those only from about the knee down. Her right looked far more trapped than her left, so Emilia started from her left, moving most of the smaller rocks away. At last, Holly's left leg was free. It was badly bruised and bleeding a little, but didn't appear broken.

From the look of pain on Holly's face and the amount of large rocks on top of it, however, her right one probably was. Carefully, Emilia eased the backpack off of Holly's shoulders and dug through the medical supplies. "Here." She handed Holly a small tablet. "For the pain."

It didn't help. Not much, at least. Her leg still felt as if it were on fire – a deep, sharp pain, right down to the bone. Holly caught Emilia's hand and held it tight. "You have to go. Whoever set the trap—"

"Already ran away. The boy from Five, I think. He's gone – ran off scared. He was probably hoping to catch the Careers."

"Blaze," Holly nodded. "Smart." Her vision was blurry with pain. "How bad is it?"

"There's a boulder pinning your right leg. I … I'll try to move it." But Holly already knew from her voice – It was too big. Too heavy. And even if she managed to get it off…

Holly smiled weakly in the early morning light. "It's all right, Emilia. This isn't so bad. At least you're with me. And I … I got you out." She rested her head on her arms. "I kept my promise."

"No!" Emilia said firmly. "No! You are _not _going to die here. Not like this." She returned to rooting through the backpack and found what she needed – supplies for a makeshift tourniquet, Holly's knife, and a needle and thread. "Not when I can fix it."

"You don't have to—"

"Holly, I couldn't save my brother. You couldn't save Basil. Justin may be dead. Please, _please_, just this once … let me save a life."

Holly nodded. "All right." She clenched her teeth, bracing herself, as Emilia wrapped the tourniquet around her leg. Her hand closed tightly around her wooden die. She closed her eyes.

But none of that blocked out the pain.

* * *

Emilia was relieved when Holly passed out. She had been trying hard – very hard – not to scream, not to give away their location. But that hadn't stopped her from grunting and moaning in pain. Not that Emilia blamed her. Not one bit. But now she could work in silence.

Suddenly, she heard a noise behind her. She turned, but the boy who was approaching held up his hands peacefully. "Blaze?" Emilia asked, hoping Holly had remembered the right name.

The small, curly-haired boy nodded and held out some water. A peace offering. There were two of them, one of him, and, for all he knew, they were armed. At the sight of the blood on the knife, Blaze backed away, but Emilia turned back to her work. "I'm not going to hurt you, Blaze. Not while I'm performing surgery."

Blaze crept closer as Emilia cut through the last of the muscle and joint, separating the leg just below the knee. "Is this clean?" Emilia asked, nodding to the water.

"Came out of an underground spring in the forest," Blaze confirmed.

"Forest?" Emilia asked. She'd been so concerned with her friend, she hadn't had time to take in her surroundings. Glancing up for a moment, she could, in fact, see a forest, lush and green, just down the side of the mountain.

Emilia poured some water over what was now the end of Holly's right leg, washing away the blood. "It wasn't meant to trap you," Blaze said quietly as Emilia began to fold the skin back over the end of the leg and started stitching. "I thought—"

"If you really want to apologize, give me a hand," Emilia suggested, and Blaze knelt by her side, holding Holly's leg as Emilia sewed. "Now get me some bandages out of the backpack," Emilia instructed once she was done. "We have to keep this clean."

Blaze did as he was told. "Thank you," Emilia said at last. "For coming back. You didn't have to do that."

Blaze looked down. "I … I wanted to return a favor. The boy from your district – Justin – we were working together. We were attacked by these large birds last night. He fought them off. Saved me. But he died. I … I thought you'd want to know."

Emilia nodded. "We haven't been getting updates – we've been in the caves. Who else is gone?"

"After the bloodbath? Both from Eleven. The girl from Nine. Justin. And two of the Careers – the girl from One and the boy from Two."

"Two of them?" That was unusual. She finished bandaging the stump of Holly's leg. "Is there anyone else with you?"

Blaze shook his head. "Not with me. There's another girl in the forest – Tessa from Three. But she's been keeping to herself. Certainly won't attack three of us. And there are the birds. But I know where they are now. Where they nest. We can avoid them."

"Can you help me carry her?"

Blaze nodded. "Yeah. But once I get you to the forest, you're on your own. Justin helped me. Now I helped you. But I think I'll do better on my own."

Emilia nodded. "Fair enough." She looked around at last. The forest was close. One last look back at the mountains. Then she saw something. Smoke. In the distance. It wouldn't make it over the mountains, but she feared for anybody back in the fields.

* * *

Stupid. Duff ran as quickly as he could. Stupid, stupid, stupid! They were angry now. Angry enough to burn down the arena to get to him. He'd taken out half of them now. They were scared. Cornered. And they had finally lashed out.

Stupid! He should have expected this. The rain had cleared away the fog. And now the grain had dried. It probably hadn't taken much for the Careers to start this fire. He should have had a plan. A safe place to run to. Now he simply fled towards what he hoped was the edge of the field, trying to stay ahead of the fire. Ahead of the Careers.

His only comfort was that they still didn't know who he was – who had been killing them. They wouldn't be looking specifically for him. And there were still a few other tributes hiding in the field.

A cannon. Good. That meant some of the tributes had run the other way – right into the Careers' path. Hopefully, they would provide enough of a distraction. Buy him enough time.

Then he reached it. The edge of the field, a short but steep slope down into thick, reedy marshland. Duff plunged in without a second thought, plowing his way through the swamp. It was wet. Cold. It stank. But it was safe. As safe as anywhere could be.

Another cannon. He could see a hovercraft, lights flashing through the smoke. Far away, though. Near the Cornucopia.

Good. Very good.

Then he heard a sound. He turned. Instinctively drew a knife and threw it. Another cannon rang out as the girl sank into the marsh. Stupid! As soon as the hovercraft came to collect her body, they would know exactly where he was.

Quickly, he retrieved the knife from the dead girl's neck, vaguely registering that she was, he thought, from District Eight. Stupid. She had no weapon. She hadn't been attacking him – merely fleeing the fire, as well.

Cursing, Duff dragged her body to the edge of the marsh and hauled it up onto dry land so the hovercraft wouldn't have to search for it amid the marshy waters. Then, as quickly as he could, he turned and fled at an angle into the swamp, away from both the Careers and the dead girl's body.

Slowly, he formulated a new plan. Let them think they got him. That he was one of the three who had died. That the girl had simply drowned in the swamp, or been bitten by a snake, or burned by the fire. Lie low. A few days. He needed the rest, anyway – he hadn't had a full night's sleep since the Games began. Let them recover, too. Let them think they were safe.

Then he would strike again.

* * *

Pine. Holly could smell pine trees. Beautiful. Strong. Fresh. She breathed in the scent, savoring it. She smiled.

Then the pain returned, but duller than before. She opened her eyes. Beautiful, thick pine trees towered overhead. A fresh, running stream lay to the left. Emilia sat beside her, smiling. "How do you feel?"

"You would not believe how happy I am to see trees," Holly deflected. "There's a squirrel up there – see? Didn't realize how much I missed them. I bet there are birds, too. Owls, maybe. Rabbits. So much life, Emilia." She took her friend's hand. "Thank you."

"How do you feel?" Emilia repeated.

"Lightheaded," Holly admitted. "If you could help me to the stream, I—"

Emilia produced a bottle of water. "Courtesy of Blaze. I was right; we weren't his target."

Holly sat up slowly and drank a little. Then she examined what was left of her right leg. "You're amazing – you know that? Anyone else would have left me. Or just waited for me to die."

Emilia shook her head. "You wouldn't have left me."

Holly wondered if that was true. Of course, she wouldn't have run off and abandoned her friend, but she certainly didn't have the skill to do what Emilia had accomplished. "So what now?"

Emilia shrugged. "One bit at a time. We wait for you to recover. We stay by the stream. Gather food. There are berries everywhere; I was hoping you might know what's safe or not."

Holly nodded. "You bet." She looked around. "Did Blaze leave?"

"Yeah. Thought he'd do better on his own. Probably right. And I'm not sure he trusts us, after his trap nearly killed you."

"But it didn't," Holly smiled. "What about the Careers? Any idea where they are?"

"There was a fire on the other side of the mountains. Three cannons. I assume they're still over there."

"Good. Who's over here?"

"Us. Blaze. And Tessa, the girl from Three. And, apparently, a flock of large, territorial birds."

"Eagles?"

"Blaze wasn't that specific. They killed Justin."

Holly took Emilia's hand. "I'm sorry."

Emilia nodded. "Me, too. But at least I saved someone."

"That you did." Holly hesitated. "Your brother – what was his name?"

"Devon."

Holly smiled. "Devon would be proud."

* * *

Ward, Pearl, and Crystal watched the sky that night. Four faces shone among the stars. Flash, the boy from One, the third of their group to die. The boy from Six – he had put up quite a fight. Maybe he was the one who had been attacking them. The girl from Eight. And the girl from Twelve. She had already been badly burned when they found her. Killing her had almost been a mercy.

Ward shook his head. There was no mercy left. Not here. Here, it was kill or be killed, and maybe now they had evened the score.

He hoped so, at least, because they were all tired. Wounded from the fight with the boy. In need of a good night's rest, but secretly afraid to take it.

"I'll take the first watch," he offered, noticing his sister trying to conceal a yawn. "Get some rest."

Pearl nodded. "Wake me when you get tired."

Ward nodded absently. It had to have been the boy from Six. No one could have survived the fire. They would wait a day or two. Recover their strength. And then start hunting again. Maybe across the mountains.

He lit a fire and settled in for a long night.

* * *

"_Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death." ~ V, v, 19-23_


	9. Against the Owl

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games still isn't mine.

* * *

**Chapter Nine  
****Against the Owl**

Blaze watched the two girls closely from high in a tree. It had been two days now. Two days since he had discovered, to his horror, that his trap worked perfectly. Since he had almost found out what it felt like to be a killer.

He was glad he hadn't. This was almost as bad – watching the girl from Ten nurse her friend back to health, knowing he was responsible for her injury. "I'm not a killer," he whispered softly, not caring anymore if the audience heard him, thought he was a wimp or a coward. "I'm not a killer. Not a killer. Please. I don't want to be."

"Then don't." The voice came from below. He must have been louder than he'd thought. The girl from Seven – Holly, he thought – waved at him, her smile almost playful. "Come down. We won't hurt you."

"How do I know that?" But he already knew, from watching them, that it was probably true. Neither of them was very strong. They had a knife, but the girl from Ten had only used it to cut off her friend's leg, and the other one was currently using it to carve a tree branch into a crutch.

The girl from Ten shrugged. "Look, none of us are over here – on the other side of the mountains, away from all the action – because we're looking for a fight. If we're attacked by some sort of animals, we'd do better together. So you're welcome to join us."

Slowly, Blaze climbed down from the tree. "That's pretty impressive," the girl from Seven said kindly. "Where'd you learn to climb like that?"

"The power lines back home. Drove my parents crazy going up there – they always said I'd be electrocuted." He smiled wryly. "Not all that likely in here, I suppose."

Seven smiled, too, but hers was genuine. "Not likely to be crushed by factory machines, either," she pointed out.

The other girl took that as her cue. "Or trampled by cows."

"Or get in the way of someone cutting down a tree and get our head chopped off."

"Or our leg – oh, wait, never mind," Ten giggled, and Seven burst out laughing.

Blaze stared. And almost ran. They were mad. Clearly, totally, genuinely insane. But they were happy. Laughing. And if he was going to die, dying with them for company – odd though they were – was better than dying alone. "Or stick our fingers in an outlet?" he offered hesitantly.

Seven grinned, clapping her hands and laughing. "That's the spirit, Blaze!" She held out her hand. Blaze hesitated a moment, but then shook it. Seven nodded. "Welcome to the game."

* * *

Dusk. Slowly, Duff crept out of the marsh. Two days. Long enough, and perhaps too long. Was the audience getting bored? Restless? Or simply eager, anticipating his next move? Either way, it was time to act. The Careers had been resting. Recovering. But that wouldn't last. He needed to strike first.

The anthem played. No deaths tonight.

Not yet.

* * *

The cannon woke Holly with a start. In an instant, she grabbed her crutch, Emilia her knife, and Blaze a torch from their dying fire. The three stood back to back, but, as the sun started to peek through the trees, nothing appeared. No Careers. No animals. No hovercraft.

Holly swayed unsteadily, adjusting her crutch. She was getting used to it. Slowly. But Emilia still had to help her sit down again before she fell.

"Other side of the mountains," Blaze concluded, spotting the hovercraft at last. "We're safe – for now."

"Is it just the Careers over there?" Holly asked. She'd lost track of who was left, but it seemed odd for the Careers to turn on each other while there were, at least, the four of them left in the forest.

Blaze shook his head. "The boy from Nine is left, and I haven't seen him in the forest – if he's here, he's hiding well. He's probably over there, though."

"Duff," Holly smiled. Basil's ally. So he was still alive – as long as the cannon hadn't been his. "Good. Very good."

It wasn't his, they discovered that night after settling down to a dinner of berries and squirrel. The cannon had been for Crystal, the girl from Two. That left the four of them in the forest, Duff, and the brother and sister from Four, Blaze concluded.

Emilia shook her head, smiling a little. "I guess I never expected to last this long."

Blaze shrugged. "We're not safe. Whatever's happening across the mountains is keeping everyone entertained for now. But once they kill each other off, we're next."

* * *

Perched in a tree nearby, Tessa heard him. He was right. The best they could hope for was that the Careers would finish each other off, but then what? There were three of them. One of her. And she had been watching them earlier – how easily, how naturally they worked together. They could hunt her down quickly. Finish her off.

Oh, yes, they put up an act of not wanting to. For now. But once they were the only ones left – once they realized they couldn't all win – they would not be so noble. They would turn on her. And then on each other.

Tessa fingered a dagger she had managed to swipe from the Cornucopia. She didn't want to. But it was better this way. Better to do it now, when they wouldn't suspect. Better to have it done, and done quickly.

Resolved at last, she waited. Waited for them to sleep. Then she would strike.

* * *

Amber clenched her fists tightly. She knew that look. Knew the girl's mind. The kill-or-be-killed mentality that had descended on her, as well, six years before, when she had killed Judee in her sleep.

Amber paced the room. She wanted to help. Warn them. Send them anything that could alert them of their danger. But she couldn't. No one would sponsor a crippled tribute who refused to take the Games seriously, a hysterical veterinarian who was scared of the dark, and a boy who had declared himself a non-killer.

As cold as she felt for thinking it, their plight was of their own making. They had doomed themselves, and she was helpless to stop it.

* * *

Tessa waited for the right moment. Finally, an owl shrieked, and she dropped to the ground, the cry masking the gentle thud of her feet against the soft earth. She crept up silently behind the boy. He was on watch, but not altogether alert. He never suspected. Before he could let out a scream, she clapped a hand over his mouth and cut his throat. His body slumped to the ground.

The owl shrieked again, this time waking the girl from Ten, who gave a cry, waking her ally. Tessa was on the girl from Ten in an instant – take out the stronger opponent first – but the girl had just enough time to draw her knife. Suddenly, a crutch struck Tessa from behind; the crippled girl wasn't entirely helpless. Startled, Tessa threw her dagger blindly in the girl's direction.

Whether it struck or not, she couldn't tell, because, at that moment, a furious shrieking filled the air, and a swarm of large owls, talons extended, swooped down on them all. The birds showed no preference, striking at any flesh they could find. Tessa screamed as the claws dug into her back. Into her neck.

Then she saw a torch striking furiously in the dark. One of the girls had flung herself on top of the other, shielding her although it was probably too late. Chocking on blood, Tessa grabbed a second torch and waved it around wildly. One bird and then another swooped in, but none could get close without being burned. At last, the birds flew away.

Tessa collapsed on the ground, bleeding heavily, her vision blurring. But she did see a face in the torchlight, leaning over her, begging her to stay. One of the girls she had tried to kill, begging her to live, because both her friends had just died, and she didn't want to lose anyone else, even an enemy.

Tessa shook her head. She couldn't stay. And, even if her body could, she knew, she could never live with what she had done.

* * *

One cannon. Then a second. And a third. But one figure remained in the darkness, letting the fire slowly die. Silently, she wept, smiling no longer. They had won, she thought, clutching her wooden die as she drove a knife into the ground. She hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye. They had taken everything in one fell swoop.

All that was left now was to die.

But not tonight. No. No, she could still deny them that. Slowly, Holly gathered enough bandages to treat the cuts the owls had made, lining her limbs and face.

She knew she had to clear out. Let the hovercraft collect the bodies. Slowly, leaning on her crutch, she managed to stand, but the sight of their bodies lying torn and bloody in the moonlight brought her to her knees again. No. No, she couldn't leave them here. Not like this.

Not like this.

It took a while, but slowly, painfully, she dragged the bodies so that the three of them lay face-up, side by side. Last of all, she positioned them with their hands joined, fingers laced together. Then she slowly made her way to the stream, where she collapsed and sobbed herself to sleep to the sound of descending hovercrafts.

* * *

Cannons. Duff cursed under his breath as he broke into a sprint. Too soon. Too soon to be his doing, but they would wake his opponent. The only remaining Career would soon be on his trail. How soon depended only on how long the boy took to mourn his sister before deciding that the best medicine was revenge.

Not long, he suspected. He had done the boy a favor, in the end. Spared him from having to kill his own sister. The boy wouldn't see it like that, of course, but it was true. The siblings couldn't both win. Couldn't both live. And, if Duff was very lucky, neither of them would.

As he reached the relative safety of the swamp, another cannon sounded. That one was the sister's.

Four cannons. Four deaths. That would satisfy the audience for a while. Give them all time to plan their final moves.

* * *

"_For the poor wren, the most diminutive of birds, will fight, her young ones in the nest, against the owl." ~ IV, ii, 9-11_


	10. That Which We Destroy

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own The Hunger Games.

* * *

**Chapter Ten  
****That Which We Destroy**

It was around midday, Holly guessed, when she finally woke. But she still didn't feel awake. It all felt like a dream. A nightmare. As if the night before couldn't possibly have happened. As if she couldn't possibly have survived.

She drank a little water and forced herself to stand. It was the pain that, at last, convinced her that she was awake. Alive. Her whole body ached, and her limbs stung where the owls had cut her. But that was something, at least. Something real.

The bodies were gone when she returned to where their fire had been, but the ground was stained with blood. Trembling, she knelt down where Emilia had died. So much blood. Gushing from her friend's body faster than Holly had imagined possible. And it had been over so quickly. Too quickly to say anything. Too quickly to say goodbye.

So she said it now. "Goodbye, Emilia. Thank you for saving my life. I'm sorry I couldn't…" She trailed off into tears. She wept until her eyes were red and sore, until her throat ached and her whole body was weak and shaking.

Finally, thirst drove her back to the stream, this time with what little remained of the contents of her pack, including Blaze's bottle, which she filled. She ate as much as she could, no longer caring about rationing it. Nothing to ration it for, really. There weren't many of them left. Chances were, one of the remaining tributes – however many there were – would kill her long before starvation could.

Besides, there were berries enough, and she gathered these as she hobbled through the woods, because, even though it was difficult and slow, moving seemed better than staying still. Night came again, and her friends' faces filled the sky. Tessa. Then Pearl, the girl from Four. Blaze. And, last of all, Emilia. Holly wanted to cry, but no tears came. Her body simply couldn't mourn any more.

The next day, she wandered farther, following the stream, slowly moving away from the mountains. She saw no one. Whatever was going on across the mountains must have been entertaining, because even the animals were leaving her alone.

Night came again. No cannons. No faces.

* * *

Holly woke early the next morning and began a slow climb over a hill. When she reached the top, she almost smiled. On the other side lay a valley, green and beautiful. Too beautiful, she thought, to be in this place of death. Was it possible to have wandered out of the arena?

She brushed the thought aside. Of course not. But, still, she felt drawn towards the valley. So, slowly, because going down was much harder even than going up the hill, she hobbled down the green, grassy slope. A few times, she fell, but that was almost a relief, feeling the grass, the light dew that lay over it. For the first time since Emilia's death, it wasn't pain reminding her that she was still alive.

Then she saw it. A bird. But not one of the owls. This was much, much larger. An eagle, maybe. It sat beside a tree, flapping its wings madly. For a moment, Holly simply stood there, staring. Then she realized why the bird was so upset. Why it wasn't moving. Its beak was lodged between the limbs of two trees, and it was fighting, furiously, to free itself.

Holly knew she should turn back. Flee as quickly as possible – which wasn't all that quickly, but it was something. There was no telling whether the bird was alone. And, even from this far away, she could tell the creature was enormous, its body several times her size, its wings maybe thirty feet wide. It probably wouldn't stay trapped for long. And then it would come after her.

But, glancing down at the stump of her own leg, Holly knew she couldn't just leave it trapped. Emilia hadn't left her. And she couldn't leave now. Slowly, as quietly as she could, she approached the frightened creature.

Despite Holly's best efforts to be quiet, the eagle saw her coming quite easily, and began to beat its wings even more frantically. Holly ventured as close to the wings as she dared and began calling softly. "Easy. Take it easy, now. I'm not going to hurt you. Hold still. Please. I just want to help you. Easy. Easy."

Her voice seemed to calm the bird a little, or else it simply decided she wasn't a threat. Weak. Lame. Unarmed. Holly limped over to the tree, eyeing the branches. The bird wasn't too badly trapped – just panicking too much to free itself. The branches just needed a little leverage.

Carefully, she wedged the end of her crutch between the branches and leaned hard against the other end. The wood strained a little. The branches started to move. She leaned harder. A little more. The bird gave a shriek and broke free just as her crutch snapped in half with a terrible crack, and Holly toppled to the ground, gazing up at the bird, bracing for its attack.

But the attack never came. Instead, the creature nudged her with its beak, eyes wide. Holly was trembling, helpless, but the bird simply nuzzled her gently. And not at all hungrily. Holly hesitated, but then cautiously reached up and stroked its feathers. They were soft and warm. "You're welcome."

The bird squawked in reply, and then bent down, its head low. "What is it?" Holly asked, but then realized what the eagle was doing. "May I?" she asked quietly. The bird didn't reply, of course, but made no move as she leaned against it, hauled herself up, limped slowly towards its back, and then carefully climbed on.

Then the eagle took off.

Holly held on tightly, but the eagle flew smoothly, as if making every effort not to let her fall. Out of the valley they soared. Above the trees.

Holly felt a smile creep back over her face. And, then, suddenly, she was laughing, a loud, rich laugh. She gazed down at the stream. The trees. The mountains. Laughing and whooping like a maniac, she realized just how wide the mountains were. How far she and Emilia had come.

Emilia. To her surprise, the thought of her friend didn't fill her with grief. She felt closer to her, somehow, here in the sky. Much closer to her, and Blaze, and Basil. Still laughing, she looked down at the desert, no longer shrouded in fog. The Cornucopia. And, beyond that, a charred field, and a marsh. She could see it all.

And then she saw the boy with the bow.

* * *

Ward heard the sound before he saw the bird. And what he heard was a loud, reckless, almost cackling laughter that filled the sky, and filled him with rage, because at last it made sense. How their attacker kept escaping. How she had been able to pick them off one by one, without a trace. Of course.

Dazed from lack of sleep he hadn't dared to take but spurred on by the thought of vengeance, Ward snatched a bow from the Cornucopia. Not his weapon of choice, but he didn't need a direct hit. He only needed to frighten the bird into dropping its passenger. His knives could do the rest.

The first arrow missed, but the second struck a wing, and the third narrowly swept by the bird's head. He fit a fourth to the string and prepared to fire.

* * *

Holly held on as tightly as she could, but she knew she couldn't hold on forever. The eagle was starting to fly lower, as if not to harm her too much when she fell. Another arrow struck the wing higher up than before, and the bird gave a jolt. And then Holly was flying – or, at least, it felt like flying, until she hit the ground.

For a moment, she simply lay there on her back, catching her breath as the bird disappeared into the sky, its work done. That was all she could do now, anyway, she realized. They had set her up. Turned her own game against her. Forced her back to the playing field.

She couldn't run. Nowhere to hide, even if she could move fast enough. Nothing to do. No crutch. No knife. No way to save herself.

The boy came running, towering over her. Ward. "You! It was you? The little toymaker?!" His eyes and voice were wild with rage. Holly stared, startled. She hadn't expected that response. What had she done?

But the boy didn't explain. He lifted her by the shirt and shook her hard. "So that's how you did it! Always in the middle of the night. Flying in here on your pet, taking us out one by one. Leaving her for last, just to taunt me. I will take great satisfaction in killing you, Toymaker!" he growled.

She couldn't help it. She laughed. Because she realized. Someone had been killing the Careers, one by one. And he thought it was her! Holly was laughing uncontrollably, trying desperately to stop, because the more she laughed, the wilder and more deadly his eyes became. But it didn't matter, somehow.

Ward dragged her to the Cornucopia and threw her to the ground, grinning madly. "I will not have you laughing as I kill you, Toymaker! I will wipe that smile from your face before you die. I will make it slow. And painful. You'll beg me to end it." He hauled her up and pinned her against the Cornucopia, his smile wide and crazed.

Her grin mirrored his own.

That only angered Ward more. He disappeared inside the Cornucopia and returned with a coil of rope, a handful of knives, and a club. He bound her hands, flung the other end of the rope over the Cornucopia, and pulled it taut, drawing her up so she was standing on her good leg. "I want them to see this!" he roared as he staked the rope to the ground. "I want them _all_ to see this! Front-row seats for everyone! I want them to see my victory!"

He lifted the club and swung – hard. It struck her leg with a crack. Holly wanted to scream, but all that came out was the same hysterical laughter. Dimly, as if in a dream, watching someone else, she realized she was smiling. Laughing. Laughing as the club swung again and again, shattering bone. Laughing as, frustrated, Ward turned to the knives instead. Laughing as blood dripped into her mouth, laughing as it trickled down her arms and leg.

Laughing because, she knew, in some tiny, pain-soaked corner of her mind, that she could still win.

She closed her eyes, engulfed by pain, her shoulders straining under the weight they bore because her leg no longer could. Dangling there like a broken puppet, she wondered, silently, how much longer it would last. How much blood she had left to spill. It couldn't be long. Not long now.

And then the knife stopped. Holly opened her eyes. Blinked away the blood. Ward lay on the ground, some sort of dart sticking out of his neck. A hand went to his throat. A knife. There was a cannon. But it wasn't hers.

Not yet.

* * *

The hand and the knife belonged to Duff, but he dropped both the knife and the reed he had fashioned into a blowgun when he saw Holly – or what was left of her. He had seen deaths this cruel, yes, but it was different on television, watching one tribute brutally torture another. It was quite another thing to see the results merely feet away.

Her eyes met his, and he realized she was smiling. "Hello, Duff," she said weakly. "I was hoping you were still alive."

Duff quickly recovered his senses, cut the ropes that held her, and lowered her to the ground. Holly's expression was one of dazed confusion. "You should leave – before someone else comes."

Then she didn't know. Duff shook his head. "There's no one else left. Just the two of us. Ward was the last. We've been hunting each other for days." He sank down beside her, exhausted. "I thought I'd never be able to catch him with his guard down, but you distracted him just long enough."

Holly nodded. "Glad I could help." She coughed weakly, spitting out some of her own blood. "Then you win. I was hoping – once Basil died – that it would be you." Her breathing was ragged. She didn't have long. "Are you going to kill me?"

Duff brushed a few bloody strands of hair away from her face. "That's up to you. I can either make it quick, or wait a few minutes for you to bleed to death on your own. Your call."

Holly laughed a little. "If it's all the same to you, Duff … I'll take those few minutes."

Duff tossed his knife aside. "You got it, Toymaker."

Holly smiled. Toymaker. Ward had called her the same thing, but he had said it with derision. Duff clearly meant it as praise.

He pressed something into her hand. The other die. The one she had given Basil. She reached into her own pocket and found hers. "Roll them," she said with a smile.

Duff's expression told her it was an odd request, but he wasn't about to refuse. He rolled. "Seven."

Holly nodded a little. "Try it again."

He did. "Seven." Confused, he rolled again. Seven. "They're broken."

Holly laughed. "'Loaded' is the term we use, but I suppose 'broken' is just as good. The game is rigged, but that's okay. It's not important. What's important … is how you play." Breathless, she offered a bloody hand to Duff. "Well played, friend." She closed her eyes, still smiling.

Duff shook her hand gently as her cannon sounded. "Well played … Gamemaker." He gathered the dice and tucked them in his pocket as the hovercraft descended.

And he smiled.

* * *

"_Nought's had, all's spent, where our desire is got without content; 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy." ~ III, ii, 4-7_


	11. Epilogue: When the Battle's Lost and Won

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games isn't mine. (Neither is Macbeth, from which I've been lifting my chapter titles.)

* * *

**Epilogue  
****When the Battle's Lost and Won**

Rowan, Fern, Oliver, and Laurel sat quietly around the fireplace, each whittling away at a small piece of wood. The children had gone to bed early, the little ones confused by the older ones' grief, not realizing yet that their brother and sister were never coming home.

Late that night, Laurel tucked a tiny doll beneath a pillow. Oliver placed a top under another. Fern left a small wooden cat under a third. And Rowan slid a pair of new dice beneath Moss' sleeping head.

Far away, in the Capitol, a young victor rolled a pair of dice and drank a silent, solemn toast to the fallen.

Farther away, in a moon-lit forest, an owl shrieked, and an eagle settled into her nest, her little ones safely beneath her wing.

And farthest of all, safely beyond harm's reach, waiting in a misty field of grain, a brother welcomed his sister. Another sister greeted her brother. One by one, twenty-three children – strangers and enemies no longer – joined hands and waited.

The newest arrival smiled – a wild, careless smile. Laughing freely, wondering, but no longer fearing, what lay ahead, she turned to the others. Then, with a smile, she led them on through the mist.

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**Author's Note: **And there you have it. Thank you to everyone who's been reading; I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. And, just for good measure...

* * *

_"When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly's done, when the battle's lost and won." ~ Macbeth Act I, Scene i, 1-4_


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